Dick Sand

By

Jules Verne

www.freeclassicebooks.com

PART I.. 5

CHAPTER I - THE BRIG-SCHOONER "PILGRIM.". 5

CHAPTER II - DICK SAND.. 19

CHAPTER III - THE WRECK.. 29

CHAPTER IV - THE SURVIVORS OF THE "WALDECK.". 43

CHAPTER V - S. V.. 52

CHAPTER VI - A WHALE IN SIGHT.. 73

CHAPTER VII - PREPARATIONS.. 87

CHAPTER VIII - THE JUBARTE.. 100

CHAPTER IX - CAPTAIN SAND.. 115

CHAPTER X - THE FOUR DAYS WHICH FOLLOW.. 127

CHAPTER XI - TEMPEST.. 144

CHAPTER XII - ON THE HORIZON.. 161

CHAPTER XIII - LAND! LAND!. 176

CHAPTER XIV - THE BEST TO DO.. 194

CHAPTER XV - HARRIS.. 213

CHAPTER XVI - ON THE WAY.. 233

CHAPTER XVII - A HUNDRED MILES IN TWO DAYS.. 250

CHAPTER XVIII - THE TERRIBLE WORD.. 270

PART II. 286

CHAPTER I - THE SLAVE TRADE.. 286

CHAPTER II - HARRIS AND NEGORO.. 301

CHAPTER III - ON THE MARCH.. 318

CHAPTER IV - THE BAD ROADS OF ANGOLA.. 333

CHAPTER V - ANTS AND THEIR DWELLING.. 348

CHAPTER VI - THE DIVING-BELL.. 362

CHAPTER VII - IN CAMP ON THE BANKS OF THE COANZA.. 379

CHAPTER VIII - SOME OF DICK SAND'S NOTES.. 393

CHAPTER IX - KAZOUNDE.. 410

CHAPTER X - THE GREAT MARKET DAY.. 425

CHAPTER XI - THE KING OF KAZOUNDE IS OFFERED A PUNCH.. 437

CHAPTER XII - A ROYAL BURIAL.. 450

CHAPTER XIII - THE INTERIOR OF A FACTORY.. 465

CHAPTER XIV - SOME NEWS OF DR. LIVINGSTONE.. 479

CHAPTER XV - WHERE A MANTICORE MAY LEAD.. 496

CHAPTER XVI - A MAGICIAN.. 512

CHAPTER XVII - DRIFTING.. 523

CHAPTER XVIII - VARIOUS INCIDENTS.. 537

CHAPTER XIX - S. V.. 549

CHAPTER XX - CONCLUSION.. 563

PART I.

CHAPTER I - THE BRIG-SCHOONER "PILGRIM."

On February 2, 1876, the schooner "Pilgrim" was in latitude 43° 57'

south, and in longitude 165° 19' west of the meridian of Greenwich.

This vessel, of four hundred tons, fitted out at San Francisco for

whale-fishing in the southern seas, belonged to James W. Weldon, a rich

Californian ship-owner, who had for several years intrusted the command

of it to Captain Hull.

The "Pilgrim" was one of the smallest, but one of the best of that

flotilla, which James W. Weldon sent each season, not only beyond

Behring Strait, as far as the northern seas, but also in the quarters

of Tasmania or of Cape Horn, as far as the Antarctic Ocean. She sailed

in a superior manner. Her very easily managed rigging permitted her to

venture, with a few men, in sight of the impenetrable fields of ice of

the southern hemisphere. Captain Hull knew how to disentangle himself,

as the sailors say, from among those icebergs, which, during the

summer, drift by the way of New Zealand or the Cape of Good Hope, under

a much lower latitude than that which they reach in the northern seas

of the globe. It is true that only icebergs of small dimensions were

found there; they were already worn by collisions, eaten away by the

warm waters, and the greater number of them were going to melt in the

Pacific or the Atlantic.

Under the command of Captain Hull, a good seaman, and also one of the

most skilful harpooners of the flotilla, was a crew composed of five

sailors and a novice. It was a small number for this whale-fishing,

which requires a good many persons. Men are necessary as well for the

management of the boats for the attack, as for the cutting up of the

captured animals. But, following the example of certain ship-owners,

James W. Weldon found it much more economical to embark at San

Francisco only the number of sailors necessary for the management of

the vessel. New Zealand did not lack harpooners, sailors of all

nationalities, deserters or others, who sought to be hired for the

season, and who followed skilfully the trade of fishermen. The busy

period once over, they were paid, they were put on shore, and they

waited till the whalers of the following year should come to claim

their services again. There was obtained by this method better work

from the disposable sailors, and a much larger profit derived by their

co-operation.

They had worked in this way on board the "Pilgrim."

The schooner had just finished her season on the limit of the Antarctic

Circle. But she had not her full number of barrels of oil, of coarse

whalebones nor of fine. Even at that period, fishing was becoming

difficult. The whales, pursued to excess, were becoming rare. The

"right" whale, which bears the name of "North Caper," in the Northern

Ocean, and that of "Sulphur Bottom," in the South Sea, was likely to

disappear. The whalers had been obliged to fall back on the finback or

jubarte, a gigantic mammifer, whose attacks are not without danger.

This is what Captain Hull had done during this cruise; but on his next

voyage he calculated on reaching a higher latitude, and, if necessary,

going in sight of Clarie and Adelie Lands, whose discovery, contested

by the American Wilkes, certainly belongs to the illustrious commander

of the "Astrolabe" and the Zelee, to the Frenchman, Dumont d'Urville.

In fact, the season had not been favorable for the "Pilgrim." In the

beginning of January, that is to say, toward the middle of the Southern

summer, and even when the time for the whalers to return had not yet

arrived Captain Hull had been obliged to abandon the fishing places.

His additional crew--a collection of pretty sad subjects--gave him an

excuse, as they say, and he determined to separate from them.

The "Pilgrim" then steered to the northwest, for New Zealand, which she

sighted on the 15th of January. She arrived at Waitemata, port of

Auckland, situated at the lowest end of the Gulf of Chouraki, on the

east coast of the northern island, and landed the fishermen who had

been engaged for the season.

The crew was not satisfied. The cargo of the "Pilgrim" was at least two

hundred barrels of oil short. There had never been worse fishing.

Captain Hull felt the disappointment of a hunter who, for the first

time, returns as he went away--or nearly so. His self-love, greatly

excited, was at stake, and he did not pardon those scoundrels whose

insubordination had compromised the results of his cruise.

It was in vain that he endeavored to recruit a new fishing crew at

Auckland. All the disposable seamen were embarked on the other whaling

vessels. He was thus obliged to give up the hope of completing the

"Pilgrim's" cargo, and Captain Hull was preparing to leave Auckland

definitely, when a request for a passage was made which he could not

refuse.

Mrs. Weldon, wife of the "Pilgrim's" owner, was then at Auckland with

her young son Jack, aged about five years, and one of her relatives,

her Cousin Benedict. James W. Weldon, whom his business operations

sometimes obliged to visit New Zealand, had brought the three there,

and intended to bring them back to San Francisco.

But, just as the whole family was going to depart, little Jack became

seriously ill, and his father, imperatively recalled by his business,

was obliged to leave Auckland, leaving his wife, his son, and Cousin

Benedict there.

Three months had passed away--three long months of separation, which

were extremely painful to Mrs. Weldon. Meanwhile her young child was

restored to health, and she was at liberty to depart, when she was

informed of the arrival of the "Pilgrim."

Now, at that period, in order to return to San Francisco, Mrs. Weldon

found herself under the necessity of going to Australia by one of the

vessels of the Golden Age Trans-oceanic Company, which ply between

Melbourne and the Isthmus of Panama by Papeiti. Then, once arrived at

Panama, it would be necessary for her to await the departure of the

American steamer, which establishes a regular communication between the

Isthmus and California. Thence, delays, trans-shipments, always

disagreeable for a woman and a child. It was just at this time that the

"Pilgrim" came into port at Auckland. Mrs. Weldon did not hesitate, but

asked Captain Hull to take her on board to bring her back to San

Francisco--she, her son, Cousin Benedict, and Nan, an old negress who

had served her since her infancy. Three thousand marine leagues to

travel on a sailing vessel! But Captain Hull's ship was so well

managed, and the season still so fine on both sides of the Equator!

Captain Hull consented, and immediately put his own cabin at the

disposal of his passenger. He wished that, during a voyage which might

last forty or fifty days, Mrs. Weldon should be installed as well as

possible on board the whaler.

There were then certain advantages for Mrs. Weldon in making the voyage

under these conditions. The only disadvantage was that this voyage

would be necessarily prolonged in consequence of this circumstance--the

"Pilgrim" would go to Valparaiso, in Chili, to effect her unloading.

That done, there would be nothing but to ascend the American coast,

with land breezes, which make these parts very agreeable.

Besides, Mrs. Weldon was a courageous woman, whom the sea did not

frighten. Then thirty years of age, she was of robust health, being

accustomed to long voyages, for, having shared with her husband the

fatigues of several passages, she did not fear the chances more or less

contingent, of shipping on board a ship of moderate tonnage. She knew

Captain Hull to be an excellent seaman, in whom James W. Weldon had

every confidence. The "Pilgrim" was a strong vessel, capital sailer,

well quoted in the flotilla of American whalers. The opportunity

presented itself. It was necessary to profit by it. Mrs. Weldon did

profit by it.

Cousin Benedict--it need not be said--would accompany her.

This cousin was a worthy man, about fifty years of age. But,

notwithstanding his fifty years, it would not have been prudent to let

him go out alone. Long, rather than tall, narrow, rather than thin, his

figure bony, his skull enormous and very hairy, one recognized in his

whole interminable person one of those worthy savants, with gold

spectacles, good and inoffensive beings, destined to remain great

children all their lives, and to finish very old, like centenaries who

would die at nurse.

"Cousin Benedict"--he was called so invariably, even outside of the

family, and, in truth, he was indeed one of those good men who seem to

be the born cousins of all the world--Cousin Benedict, always impeded

by his long arms and his long limbs, would be absolutely incapable of

attending to matters alone, even in the most ordinary circumstances of

life. He was not troublesome, oh! no, but rather embarrassing for

others, and embarrassed for himself. Easily satisfied, besides being

very accommodating, forgetting to eat or drink, if some one did not

bring him something to eat or drink, insensible to the cold as to the

heat, he seemed to belong less to the animal kingdom than to the

vegetable kingdom. One must conceive a very useless tree, without fruit

and almost without leaves, incapable of giving nourishment or shelter,

but with a good heart.

Such was Cousin Benedict. He would very willingly render service to

people if, as Mr. Prudhomme would say, he were capable of rendering it.

Finally, his friends loved him for his very feebleness. Mrs. Weldon

regarded him as her child--a large elder brother of her little Jack.

It is proper to add here that Cousin Benedict was, meanwhile, neither

idle nor unoccupied. On the contrary, he was a worker. His only

passion--natural history--absorbed him entirely.

To say "Natural History" is to say a great deal.

We know that the different parts of which this science is composed are

zoology, botany, mineralogy, and geology.

Now Cousin Benedict was, in no sense, a botanist, nor a mineralogist,

nor a geologist.

Was he, then, a zoologist in the entire acceptation of the word, a kind

of Cuvier of the New World, decomposing an animal by analysis, or

putting it together again by synthesis, one of those profound

connoisseurs, versed in the study of the four types to which modern

science refers all animal existence, vertebrates, mollusks,

articulates, and radiates? Of these four divisions, had the artless but

studious savant observed the different classes, and sought the orders,

the families, the tribes, the genera, the species, and the varieties

which distinguish them?

No.

Had Cousin Benedict devoted himself to the study of the vertebrates,

mammals, birds, reptiles, and fishes?

No.

Was it to the mollusks, from the cephalopodes to the bryozoans, that he

had given his preference, and had malacology no more secrets for him?

Not at all.

Then it was on the radiates, echinoderms, acalephes, polypes,

entozoons, sponges, and infusoria, that he had for such a long time

burned the midnight oil?

It must, indeed, be confessed that it was not on the radiates.

Now, in zoology there only remains to be mentioned the division of the

articulates, so it must be that it was on this division that Cousin

Benedict's only passion was expended.

Yes, and still it is necessary to select.

This branch of the articulates counts six classes: insects, myriapodes,

arachnides, crustaceans, cirrhopodes, and annelides.

Now, Cousin Benedict, scientifically speaking, would not know how to

distinguish an earth-worm from a medicinal leech, a sand-fly from a

glans-marinus, a common spider from a false scorpion, a shrimp from a

frog, a gally-worm from a scolopendra.

But, then, what was Cousin Benedict? Simply an entomologist--nothing

more.

To that, doubtless, it may be said that in its etymological

acceptation, entomology is that part of the natural sciences which

includes all the articulates. That is true, in a general way; but it is

the custom to give this word a more restricted sense. It is then only

applied, properly speaking, to the study of insects, that is to say:

"All the articulate animals of which the body, composed of rings placed

end to end, forms three distinct segments, and which possesses three

pairs of legs, which have given them the name of hexapodes."

Now, as Cousin Benedict had confined himself to the study of the

articulates of this class, he was only an entomologist.

But, let us not be mistaken about it. In this class of the insects are

counted not less than ten orders:

1. Orthopterans as grasshoppers, crickets, etc.

2. Neuropters as ant-eaters, dragon-flies or libellula.

3. Hymenopters as bees, wasps, ants.

4. Lepidopters as butterflies, etc.

5. Hemipters as cicada, plant-lice, fleas, etc.

6. Coleopters as cockchafers, fire-flies, etc.

7. Dipters as gnats, musquitoes, flies.

8. Rhipipters as stylops.

9. Parasites as acara, etc.

10. Thysanurans as lepidotus, flying-lice, etc.

Now, in certain of these orders, the coleopters, for example, there are

recognized thirty thousand species, and sixty thousand in the dipters;

so subjects for study are not wanting, and it will be conceded that

there is sufficient in this class alone to occupy a man!

Thus, Cousin Benedict's life was entirely and solely consecrated to

entomology.

To this science he gave all his hours--all, without exception, even the

hours of sleep, because he invariably dreamt "hexapodes." That he

carried pins stuck in his sleeves and in the collar of his coat, in the

bottom of his hat, and in the facings of his vest, need not be

mentioned.

When Cousin Benedict returned from some scientific promenade his

precious head-covering in particular was no more than a box of natural

history, being bristling inside and outside with pierced insects.

And now all will be told about this original when it is stated, that it

was on account of his passion for entomology that he had accompanied

Mr. and Mrs. Weldon to New Zealand. There his collection was enriched

by some rare subjects, and it will be readily understood that he was in

haste to return to classify them in the cases of his cabinet in San

Francisco.

So, as Mrs. Weldon and her child were returning to America by the

"Pilgrim," nothing more natural than for Cousin Benedict to accompany

them during that passage.

But it was not on him that Mrs. Weldon could rely, if she should ever

find herself in any critical situation. Very fortunately, the prospect

was only that of a voyage easily made during the fine season, and on

board of a ship whose captain merited all her confidence.

During the three days that the "Pilgrim" was in port at Waitemata, Mrs.

Weldon made her preparations in great haste, for she did not wish to

delay the departure of the schooner. The native servants whom she

employed in her dwelling in Auckland were dismissed, and, on the 22d

January, she embarked on board the "Pilgrim," bringing only her son

Jack, Cousin Benedict, and Nan, her old negress.

Cousin Benedict carried all his curious collection of insects in a

special box. In this collection figured, among others, some specimens

of those new staphylins, species of carnivorous coleopters, whose eyes

are placed above the head, and which, till then, seemed to be peculiar

to New Caledonia. A certain venomous spider, the "katipo," of the

Maoris, whose bite is often fatal to the natives, had been very highly

recommended to him. But a spider does not belong to the order of

insects properly so called; it is placed in that of the arachnida, and,

consequently, was valueless in Cousin Benedict's eyes. Thus he scorned

it, and the most beautiful jewel of his collection was a remarkable

staphylin from New Zealand.

It is needless to say that Cousin Benedict, by paying a heavy premium,

had insured his cargo, which to him seemed much more precious than all

the freight of oil and bones stowed away in the hold of the "Pilgrim."

Just as the "Pilgrim" was getting under sail, when Mrs. Weldon and her

companion for the voyage found themselves on the deck of the schooner,

Captain Hull approached his passenger:

"It is understood, Mrs. Weldon," he said to her, "that, if you take

passage on board the 'Pilgrim,' it is on your own responsibility."

"Why do you make that observation to me, Mr. Hull?" asked Mrs. Weldon.

"Because I have not received an order from your husband in regard to

it, and, all things considered, a schooner cannot offer you the

guarantees of a good passage, like a packet-boat, specially intended to

carry travelers."

"If my husband were here," replied Mrs. Weldon, "do you think, Mr.

Hull, that he would hesitate to embark on the 'Pilgrim,' in company

with his wife and child?"

"No, Mrs. Weldon, he would not hesitate," said Captain Hull; "no,

indeed! no more than I should hesitate myself! The 'Pilgrim' is a good

ship after all, even though she has made but a sad cruise, and I am

sure of her, as much so as a seaman can be of the ship which he has

commanded for several years. The reason I speak, Mrs. Weldon, is to get

rid of personal responsibility, and to repeat that you will not find on

board the comfort to which you have been accustomed."

"As it is only a question of comfort, Mr. Hull," replied Mrs. Weldon,

"that should not stop me. I am not one of those troublesome passengers

who complain incessantly of the narrowness of the cabins, and the

insufficiency of the table."

Then, after looking for a few moments at her little Jack, whom she held

by the hand, Mrs. Weldon said:

"Let us go, Mr. Hull!"

The orders were given to get under way at once, the sails were set, and

the "Pilgrim," working to get out to sea in the shortest time possible,

steered for the American coast.

But, three days after her departure, the schooner, thwarted by strong

breezes from the east, was obliged to tack to larboard to make headway

against the wind. So, at the date of February 2d, Captain Hull still

found himself in a higher latitude than he would have wished, and in

the situation of a sailor who wanted to double Cape Horn rather than

reach the New Continent by the shortest course.

CHAPTER II - DICK SAND.

Meanwhile the sea was favorable, and, except the delays, navigation

would be accomplished under very supportable conditions.

Mrs. Weldon had been installed on board the "Pilgrim" as comfortably as

possible.

Neither poop nor "roufle" was at the end of the deck. There was no

stern cabin, then, to receive the passengers. She was obliged to be

contented with Captain Hull's cabin, situated aft, which constituted

his modest sea lodging. And still it had been necessary for the captain

to insist, in order to make her accept it. There, in that narrow

lodging, was installed Mrs. Weldon, with her child and old Nan. She

took her meals there, in company with the captain and Cousin Benedict,

for whom they had fitted up a kind of cabin on board.

As to the commander of the "Pilgrim," he had settled himself in a cabin

belonging to the ship's crew--a cabin which would be occupied by the

second officer, if there were a second one on board. But the

brig-schooner was navigated, we know, under conditions which enabled

her to dispense with the services of a second officer.

The men of the "Pilgrim," good and strong seamen, were very much united

by common ideas and habits. This fishing season was the fourth which

they had passed together. All Americans of the West, they were

acquainted for a long period, and belonged to the same coast of the

State of California.

These brave men showed themselves very thoughtful towards Mrs. Weldon,

the wife of the owner of their ship, for whom they professed boundless

devotion. It must be said that, largely interested in the profits of

the ship, they had navigated till then with great gain. If, by reason

of their small number, they did not spare themselves, it was because

every labor increased their earnings in the settling of accounts at the

end of each season. This time, it is true, the profit would be almost

nothing, and that gave them just cause to curse and swear against those

New Zealand scoundrels.

One man on board, alone among all, was not of American origin.

Portuguese by birth, but speaking English fluently, he was called

Negoro, and filled the humble position of cook on the schooner.

The "Pilgrim's" cook having deserted at Auckland, this Negoro, then out

of employment, offered himself for the place. He was a taciturn man,

not at all communicative, who kept to himself, but did his work

satisfactorily. In engaging him, Captain Hull seemed to be rather

fortunate, and since embarking, the master cook had merited no reproach.

Meanwhile, Captain Hull regretted not having had the time to inform

himself sufficiently about Negoro's antecedents. His face, or rather

his look, was only half in his favor, and when it is necessary to bring

an unknown into the life on board, so confined, so intimate, his

antecedents should be carefully inquired into.

Negoro might be forty years old. Thin, nervous, of medium height, with

very brown hair, skin somewhat swarthy, he ought to be strong. Had he

received any instruction? Yes; that appeared in certain observations

which escaped him sometimes. Besides, he never spoke of his past life,

he said not a word about his family. Whence he came, where he had

lived, no one could tell. What would his future be? No one knew any

more about that. He only announced his intention of going on shore at

Valparaiso. He was certainly a singular man. At all events, he did not

seem to be a sailor. He seemed to be even more strange to marine things

than is usual with a master cook, part of whose existence is passed at

sea.

Meanwhile, as to being incommoded by the rolling and pitching of the

ship, like men who have never navigated, he was not in the least, and

that is something for a cook on board a vessel.

Finally, he was little seen. During the day, he most generally remained

confined in his narrow kitchen, before the stove for melting, which

occupied the greater part of it. When night came and the fire in the

stove was out, Negoro went to the cabin which was assigned to him at

the end of the crew's quarters. Then he went to bed at once and went to

sleep.

It has been already said that the "Pilgrim's" crew was composed of five

sailors and a novice.

This young novice, aged fifteen, was the child of an unknown father and

mother. This poor being, abandoned from his birth, had been received

and brought up by public charity.

Dick Sand--that was his name--must have been originally from the State

of New York, and doubtless from the capital of that State.

If the name of Dick--an abbreviation of Richard--had been given to the

little orphan, it was because it was the name of the charitable

passer-by who had picked him up two or three hours after his birth. As

to the name of Sand, it was attributed to him in remembrance of the

place where he had been found; that is to say, on that point of land

called Sandy-Hook, which forms the entrance of the port of New York, at

the mouth of the Hudson.

Dick Sand, when he should reach his full growth, would not exceed

middle height, but he was well built. One could not doubt that he was

of Anglo-Saxon origin. He was brown, however, with blue eyes, in which

the crystalline sparkled with ardent fire. His seaman's craft had

already prepared him well for the conflicts of life. His intelligent

physiognomy breathed forth energy. It was not that of an audacious

person, it was that of a darer. These three words from an unfinished

verse of Virgil are often cited:

"Audaces fortuna juvat"....

but they are quoted incorrectly. The poet said:

"Audentes fortuna juvat"....

It is on the darers, not on the audacious, that Fortune almost always

smiled. The audacious may be unguarded. The darer thinks first, acts

afterwards. There is the difference!

Dick Sand was audens.

At fifteen he already knew how to take a part, and to carry out to the

end whatever his resolute spirit had decided upon. His manner, at once

spirited and serious, attracted attention. He did not squander himself

in words and gestures, as boys of his age generally do. Early, at a

period of life when they seldom discuss the problems of existence, he

had looked his miserable condition in the face, and he had promised "to

make" himself.

And he had made himself--being already almost a man at an age when

others are still only children.

At the same time, very nimble, very skilful in all physical exercises,

Dick Sand was one of those privileged beings, of whom it may be said

that they were born with two left feet and two right hands. In that

way, they do everything with the right hand, and always set out with

the left foot.

Public charity, it has been said, had brought up the little orphan. He

had been put first in one of those houses for children, where there is

always, in America, a place for the little waifs. Then at four, Dick

learned to read, write and count in one of those State of New York

schools, which charitable subscriptions maintain so generously.

At eight, the taste for the sea, which Dick had from birth, caused him

to embark as cabin-boy on a packet ship of the South Sea. There he

learned the seaman's trade, and as one ought to learn it, from the

earliest age. Little by little he instructed himself under the

direction of officers who were interested in this little old man. So

the cabin-boy soon became the novice, expecting something better, of

course. The child who understands, from the beginning, that work is the

law of life, the one who knows, from an early age, that he will gain

his bread only by the sweat of his brow--a Bible precept which is the

rule of humanity--that one is probably intended for great things; for

some day he will have, with the will, the strength to accomplish them.

It was, when he was a cabin-boy on board a merchant vessel, that Dick

Sand was remarked by Captain Hull. This honest seaman immediately

formed a friendship with this honest young boy, and later he made him

known to the ship-owner, James W. Weldon. The latter felt a lively

interest in this orphan, whose education he completed at San Francisco,

and he had him brought up in the Catholic religion, to which his family

adhered.

During the course of his studies, Dick Sand showed a particular liking

for geography, for voyages, while waiting till he was old enough to

learn that branch of mathematics which relates to navigation. Then to

this theoretical portion of his instruction, he did not neglect to join

the practical. It was as novice that he was able to embark for the

first time on the "Pilgrim." A good seaman ought to understand fishing

as well as navigation. It is a good preparation for all the

contingencies which the maritime career admits of. Besides, Dick Sand

set out on a vessel of James W. Weldon's, his benefactor, commanded by

his protector, Captain Hull. Thus he found himself in the most

favorable circumstances.

To speak of the extent of his devotion to the Weldon family, to whom he

owed everything, would be superfluous. Better let the facts speak for

themselves. But it will be understood how happy the young novice was

when he learned that Mrs. Weldon was going to take passage on board the

"Pilgrim." Mrs. Weldon for several years had been a mother to him, and

in Jack he saw a little brother, all the time keeping in remembrance

his position in respect to the son of the rich ship-owner. But--his

protectors knew it well--this good seed which they had sown had fallen

on good soil. The orphan's heart was filled with gratitude, and some

day, if it should be necessary to give his life for those who had

taught him to instruct himself and to love God, the young novice would

not hesitate to give it. Finally, to be only fifteen, but to act and

think as if he were thirty, that was Dick Sand.

Mrs. Weldon knew what her protégé was worth. She could trust little

Jack with him without any anxiety. Dick Sand cherished this child, who,

feeling himself loved by this "large brother," sought his company.

During those long leisure hours, which are frequent in a voyage, when

the sea is smooth, when the well set up sails require no management,

Dick and Jack were almost always together. The young novice showed the

little boy everything in his craft which seemed amusing.

Without fear Mrs. Weldon saw Jack, in company with Dick Sand, spring

out on the shrouds, climb to the top of the mizzen-mast, or to the

booms of the mizzen-topmast, and come down again like an arrow the

whole length of the backstays. Dick Sand went before or followed him,

always ready to hold him up or keep him back, if his six-year-old arms

grew feeble during those exercises. All that benefited little Jack,

whom sickness had made somewhat pale; but his color soon came back on

board the "Pilgrim," thanks to this gymnastic, and to the bracing

sea-breezes.

So passed the time. Under these conditions the passage was being

accomplished, and only the weather was not very favorable, neither the

passengers nor the crew of the "Pilgrim" would have had cause to

complain.

Meanwhile this continuance of east winds made Captain Hull anxious. He

did not succeed in getting the vessel into the right course. Later,

near the Tropic of Capricorn, he feared finding calms which would delay

him again, without speaking of the equatorial current, which would

irresistibly throw him back to the west. He was troubled then, above

all, for Mrs. Weldon, by the delays for which, meanwhile, he was not

responsible. So, if he should meet, on his course, some transatlantic

steamer on the way toward America, he already thought of advising his

passenger to embark on it. Unfortunately, he was detained in latitudes

too high to cross a steamer running to Panama; and, besides, at that

period communication across the Pacific, between Australia and the New

World, was not as frequent as it has since become.

It then was necessary to leave everything to the grace of God, and it

seemed as if nothing would trouble this monotonous passage, when the

first incident occurred precisely on that day, February 2d, in the

latitude and longitude indicated at the beginning of this history.

Dick Sand and Jack, toward nine o'clock in the morning, in very clear

weather, were installed on the booms of the mizzen-topmast. Thence they

looked down on the whole ship and a portion of the ocean in a largo

circumference. Behind, the perimeter of the horizon was broken to their

eyes, only by the mainmast, carrying brigantine and fore-staff. That

beacon hid from them a part of the sea and the sky. In the front, they

saw the bowsprit stretching over the waves, with its three jibs, which

were hauled tightly, spread out like three great unequal wings.

Underneath rounded the foremast, and above, the little top-sail and

the little gallant-sail, whose bolt-rope quivered with the pranks of

the breeze. The schooner was then running on the larboard tack, and

hugging the wind as much as possible.

Dick Sand explained to Jack how the "Pilgrim," ballasted properly, well

balanced in all her parts, could not capsize, even if she gave a pretty

strong heel to starboard, when the little boy interrupted him.

"What do I see there?" said he.

"You see something, Jack?" demanded Dick Sand, who stood up straight on

the booms.

"Yes--there!" replied little Jack, showing a point of the sea, left

open by the interval between the stays of the standing-jib and the

flying-jib.

Dick Sand looked at the point indicated attentively, and forthwith,

with a loud voice, he cried;

"A wreck to windward, over against starboard!"

*       *       *       *       *

CHAPTER III - THE WRECK.

Dick Sand's cry brought all the crew to their feet. The men who were

not on watch came on deck. Captain Hull, leaving his cabin, went toward

the bow.

Mrs. Weldon, Nan, even the indifferent Cousin Benedict himself, came to

lean over the starboard rail, so as to see the wreck signaled by the

young novice.

Negoro, alone, did not leave the cabin, which served him for a kitchen;

and as usual, of all the crew, he was the only one whom the encounter

with a wreck did not appear to interest.

Then all regarded attentively the floating object which the waves were

rocking, three miles from the "Pilgrim."

"Ah! what can that be?" said a sailor.

"Some abandoned raft," replied another.

"Perhaps there are some unhappy shipwrecked ones on that raft," said

Mrs. Weldon.

"We shall find out," replied Captain Hull. "But that wreck is not a

raft. It is a hull thrown over on the side."

"Ah! is it not more likely to be some marine animal--some mammifer of

great size?" observed Cousin Benedict.

"I do not think so," replied the novice.

"Then what is your idea, Dick?" asked Mrs. Weldon.

"An overturned hull, as the captain has said, Mrs. Weldon. It even

seems to me that I see its copper keel glistening in the sun."

"Yes--indeed," replied Captain Hull. Then addressing the helmsman:

"Steer to the windward, Bolton. Let her go a quarter, so as to come

alongside the wreck."

"Yes, sir," replied the helmsman.

"But," continued Cousin Benedict, "I keep to what I have said.

Positively it is an animal."

"Then this would be a whale in copper," replied Captain Hull, "for,

positively, also, I see it shine in the sun!"

"At all events, Cousin Benedict," added Mrs. Weldon, "you will agree

with us that this whale must be dead, for it is certain that it does

not make the least movement."

"Ah! Cousin Weldon," replied Cousin Benedict, who was obstinate, "this

would not be the first time that one has met a whale sleeping on the

surface of the waves."

"That is a fact," replied Captain Hull; "but to-day, the thing is not a

whale, but a ship."

"We shall soon see," replied Cousin Benedict, who, after all, would

give all the mammifers of the Arctic or Antarctic seas for an insect of

a rare species.

"Steer, Bolton, steer!" cried Captain Hull again, "and do not board the

wreck. Keep a cable's length. If we cannot do much harm to this hull,

it might cause us some damage, and I do not care to hurt the sides of

the 'Pilgrim' with it. Tack a little, Bolton, tack!"

The "Pilgrim's" prow, which had been directed toward the wreck, was

turned aside by a slight movement of the helm.

The schooner was still a mile from the capsized hull. The sailors were

eagerly looking at it. Perhaps it held a valuable cargo, which it would

be possible to transfer to the "Pilgrim." We know that, in these

salvages, the third of the value belongs to the rescuers, and, in this

case, if the cargo was not damaged, the crew, as they say, would make

"a good haul." This would be a fish of consolation for their incomplete

fishing.

A quarter of an hour later the wreck was less than a mile from the

"Pilgrim."

It was indeed a ship, which presented itself on its side, to the

starboard. Capsized as far as the nettings, she heeled so much that it

would be almost impossible to stand upon her deck. Nothing could be

seen beyond her masts. From the port-shrouds were banging only some

ends of broken rope, and the chains broken by the cloaks of

white-crested waves. On the starboard side opened a large hole between

the timbers of the frame-work and the damaged planks.

"This ship has been run into," cried Dick Sand.

"There is no doubt of that," replied Captain Hull; "and it is a miracle

that she did not sink immediately."

"If there has been a collision," observed Mrs. Weldon, "we must hope

that the crew of this ship has been picked up by those who struck her."

"It is to be hoped so, Mrs. Weldon," replied Captain, Hull, "unless

this crew sought refuge in their own boats after the collision, in case

the colliding vessel should sail right on--which, alas! sometimes

happens."

"Is it possible? That would be a proof of very great inhumanity, Mr.

Hull."

"Yes, Mrs. Weldon. Yes! and instances are not wanting. As to the crew

of this ship, what makes me believe that it is more likely they have

left it, is that I do not see a single boat; and, unless the men on

board have been picked up, I should be more inclined to think that they

have tried to roach the land. But, at this distance from the American

continent, or from the islands of Oceanica, it is to be feared that

they have not succeeded."

"Perhaps," said Mrs. Weldon, "we shall never know the secret of this

catastrophe. Meanwhile, it might be possible that some man of the crew

is still on board."

"That is not probable, Mrs. Weldon," replied Captain Hull. "Our

approach would be already known, and they would make some signals to

us. But we shall make sure of it.--Luff a little, Bolton, luff," cried

Captain Hull, while indicating with his hand what course to take.

The "Pilgrim" was now only three cables' length from the wreck, and

they could no longer doubt that this hull had been completely abandoned

by all its crew.

But, at that moment, Dick Sand made a gesture which imperiously

demanded silence.

"Listen, listen!" said he.

Each listened.

"I hear something like a bark!" cried Dick Sand. In fact, a distant

barking resounded from the interior of the hull. Certainly there was a

living dog there, imprisoned perhaps, for it was possible that the

hatches were hermetically closed. But they could not see it, the deck

of the capsized vessel being still invisible.

"If there be only a dog there, Mr. Hull," said Mrs. "Weldon," we shall

save it."

"Yes, yes!" cried little Jack, "we shall save it. I shall give it

something to eat! It will love us well! Mama, I am going to bring it a

piece of sugar!"

"Stay still, my child," replied Mrs. Weldon smiling. "I believe that

the poor animal is dying of hunger, and it will prefer a good mess to

your morsel of sugar."

"Well, then, let it have my soup," cried little Jack. "I can do without

it very well."

At that moment the barking was more distinctly heard. Three hundred

feet, at the most, separated the two ships. Almost immediately a dog of

great height appeared on the starboard netting, and clung there,

barking more despairingly than ever.

"Howik," said Captain Hull, turning toward the master of the

"Pilgrim's" crew, "heave to, and lower the small boat."

"Hold on, my dog, hold on!" cried little Jack to the animal, which

seemed to answer him with a half-stifled bark.

The "Pilgrim's" sails were rapidly furled, so that the ship should

remain almost motionless, less than half a cable's length from the

wreck.

The boat was brought alongside. Captain Hull, Dick Sand and two sailors

got into it at once.

The dog barked all the time. It tried to hold on to the netting, but

every moment it fell back on the deck. One would say that its barks

were no longer addressed to those who were coming to him. Were they

then addressed to some sailors or passengers imprisoned in this ship?

"Is there, then, on board some shipwrecked one who has survived?" Mrs.

Weldon asked herself.

A few strokes of the oars and the "Pilgrim's" boat would reach the

capsized hull.

But, suddenly, the dog's manner changed. Furious barks succeeded its

first barks inviting the rescuers to come. The most violent anger

excited the singular animal.

"What can be the matter with that dog?" said Captain Hull, while the

boat was turning the stern of the vessel, so as to come alongside of

the part of the deck lying under the water.

What Captain Hull could not then observe, what could not be noticed

even on board the "Pilgrim," was that the dog's fury manifested itself

just at the moment when Negoro, leaving his kitchen, had just come

toward the forecastle.

Did the dog then know and recognize the master cook? It was very

improbable.

However that may be, after looking at the dog, without showing any

surprise, Negoro, who, however, frowned for an instant, returned to the

crew's quarters.

Meanwhile the boat had rounded the stern of the ship. Her aftboard

carried this single name: "Waldeck."

"Waldeck," and no designation of the port attached. But, by the form of

the hull, by certain details which a sailor seizes at the first glance,

Captain Hull had, indeed, discovered that this ship was of American

construction. Besides, her name confirmed it. And now, this hull, it

was all that remained of a large brig of five hundred tons.

At the "Waldeck's" prow a large opening indicated the place where the

collision had occurred. In consequence of the capsizing of the hull,

this opening was then five or six feet above the water--which explained

why the brig had not yet foundered.

On the deck, which Captain Hull saw in its whole extent, there was

nobody.

The dog, having left the netting, had just let itself slip as far as

the central hatch, which was open; and it barked partly toward the

interior, partly toward the exterior.

"It is very certain that this animal is not alone on board!" observed

Dick Sand.

"No, in truth!" replied Captain Hull.

The boat then skirted the larboard netting, which was half under water.

A somewhat strong swell of the sea would certainly submerge the

"Waldeck" in a few moments.

The brig's deck had been swept from one end to the other. There was

nothing left except the stumps of the mainmast and of the mizzen-mast,

both broken off two feet above the scuttles, and which had fallen in

the collision, carrying away shrouds, back-stays, and rigging.

Meanwhile, as far as the eye could see, no wreck was visible around the

"Waldeck"--which seemed to indicate that the catastrophe was already

several days old.

"If some unhappy creatures have survived the collision," said Captain

Hull, "it is probable that either hunger or thirst has finished them,

for the water must have gained the store-room. There are only dead

bodies on board!"

"No," cried Dick Sand, "no! The dog would not bark that way. There are

living beings on board!"

At that moment the animal, responding to the call of the novice, slid

to the sea, and swam painfully toward the boat, for it seemed to be

exhausted.

They took it in, and it rushed eagerly, not for a piece of bread that

Dick Sand offered it first, but to a half-tub which contained a little

fresh water.

"This poor animal is dying of thirst!" cried Dick Sand.

The boat then sought a favorable place to board the "Waldeck" more

easily, and for that purpose it drew away a few strokes. The dog

evidently thought that its rescuers did not wish to go on board, for he

seized Dick Sand by his jacket, and his lamentable barks commenced

again with new strength.

They understood it. Its pantomime and its language were as clear as a

man's language could be. The boat was brought immediately as far as the

larboard cat-head. There the two sailors moored it firmly, while

Captain Hull and Dick Sand, setting foot on the deck at the same time

as the dog, raised themselves, not without difficulty, to the hatch

which opened between the stumps of the two masts.

By this hatch the two made their way into the hold.

The "Waldeck's" hold, half full of water, contained no goods. The brig

sailed with ballast--a ballast of sand which had slid to larboard and

which helped to keep the ship on her side. On that head, then, there

was no salvage to effect.

"Nobody here," said Captain Hull.

"Nobody," replied the novice, after having gone to the foremost part of

the hold.

But the dog, which was on the deck, kept on barking and seemed to call

the captain's attention more imperatively.

"Let us go up again," said Captain Hull to the novice.

Both appeared again on the deck.

The dog, running to them, sought to draw them to the poop.

They followed it.

There, in the square, five bodies--undoubtedly five corpses--were lying

on the floor.

By the daylight which entered in waves by the opening, Captain Hull

discovered the bodies of five negroes.

Dick Sand, going from one to the other, thought he felt that the

unfortunates were still breathing.

"On board! on board!" cried Captain Hull.

The two sailors who took care of the boat were called, and helped to

carry the shipwrecked men out of the poop.

This was not without difficulty, but two minutes after, the five blacks

were laid in the boat, without being at all conscious that any one was

trying to save them. A few drops of cordial, then a little fresh water

prudently administered, might, perhaps, recall them to life.

The "Pilgrim" remained a half cable's length from the wreck, and the

boat would soon reach her.

A girt-line was let down from the main-yard, and each of the blacks

drawn up separately reposed at last on the "Pilgrim's" deck.

The dog had accompanied them.

"The unhappy creatures!" cried Mrs. Weldon, on perceiving those poor

men, who were only inert bodies.

"They are alive, Mrs. Weldon. We shall save them. Yes, we shall save

them," cried Dick Sand.

"What has happened to them?" demanded Cousin Benedict.

"Wait till they can speak," replied Captain Hull, "and they will tell

us their history. But first of all, let us make them drink a little

water, in which we shall mix a few drops of rum." Then, turning round:

"Negoro!" he called.

At that name the dog stood up as if it knew the sound, its hair

bristling, its mouth open.

Meanwhile, the cook did not appear.

"Negoro!" repeated Captain Hull.

The dog again gave signs of extreme fury.

Negoro left the kitchen.

Hardly had he shown himself on the deck, than the dog sprang on him and

wanted to jump at his throat.

With a blow from the poker with which he was armed, the cook drove away

the animal, which some of the sailors succeeded in holding.

"Do you know this dog?" Captain Hull asked the master cook.

"I?" replied Negoro. "I have never seen it."

"That is singular," murmured Dick Sand.

*       *       *       *       *

CHAPTER IV - THE SURVIVORS OF THE "WALDECK."

The slave trade was still carried on, on a large scale, in all

equinoctial Africa. Notwithstanding the English and French cruisers,

ships loaded with slaves leave the coasts of Angola and Mozambique

every year to transport negroes to various parts of the world, and, it

must be said, of the civilized world.

Captain Hull was not ignorant of it. Though these parts were not

ordinarily frequented by slave-ships, he asked himself if these blacks,

whose salvage he had just effected, were not the survivors of a cargo

of slaves that the "Waldeck" was going to sell to some Pacific colony.

At all events, if that was so, the blacks became free again by the sole

act of setting foot on his deck, and he longed to tell it to them.

Meanwhile the most earnest care had been lavished on the shipwrecked

men from the "Waldeck." Mrs. Weldon, aided by Nan and Dick Sand, had

administered to them a little of that good fresh water of which they

must have been deprived for several days, and that, with some

nourishment, sufficed to restore them to life.

The eldest of these blacks--he might be about sixty years old--was soon

able to speak, and he could answer in English the questions which were

addressed to him.

"The ship which carried you was run into?" asked Captain Hull, first of

all.

"Yes," replied the old black. "Ten days ago our ship was struck, during

a very dark night. We were asleep----"

"But the men of the 'Waldeck'--what has become of them?"

"They were no longer there, sir, when my companions and I reached the

deck."

"Then, was the crew able to jump on board the ship which struck the

'Waldeck'?" demanded Captain Hull.

"Perhaps, and we must indeed hope so for their sakes."

"And that ship, after the collision, did it not return to pick you up?"

"No."

"Did she then go down herself?"

"She did not founder," replied the old black, shaking his head, "for we

could see her running away in the night."

This fact, which was attested by all the survivors of the "Waldeck,"

may appear incredible. It is only too true, however, that captains,

after some terrible collision, due to their imprudence, have often

taken flight without troubling themselves about the unfortunate ones

whom they had put in danger, and without endeavoring to carry

assistance to them.

That drivers do as much and leave to others, on the public way, the

trouble of repairing the misfortune which they have caused, that is

indeed to be condemned. Still, their victims are assured of finding

immediate help. But, that men to men, abandon each other thus at sea,

it is not to be believed, it is a shame!

Meanwhile, Captain Hull knew several examples of such inhumanity, and

he was obliged to tell Mrs. Weldon that such facts, monstrous as they

might be, were unhappily not rare.

Then, continuing:

"Whence came the 'Waldeck?'" he asked.

"From Melbourne."

"Then you are not slaves?"

"No, sir!" the old black answered quickly, as he stood up straight. "We

are subjects of the State of Pennsylvania, and citizens of free

America!"

"My friends," replied Captain Hull, "believe me that you have not

compromised your liberty in coming on board of the American brig, the

'Pilgrim.'"

In fact, the five blacks which the "Waldeck" carried belonged to the

State of Pennsylvania. The oldest, sold in Africa as a slave at the age

of six years, then brought to the United States, had been freed already

many years ago by the Emancipation Proclamation. As to his companions,

much younger than he, sons of slaves liberated before their birth, they

were born free; no white had ever had the right of property over them.

They did not even speak that "negro" language, which does not use the

article, and only knows the infinitive of the verbs--a language which

has disappeared little by little, indeed, since the anti-slavery war.

These blacks had, then, freely left the United States, and they were

returning to it freely.

As they told Captain Hull, they were engaged as laborers at an

Englishman's who owned a vast mine near Melbourne, in Southern

Australia. There they had passed three years, with great profit to

themselves; their engagement ended, they had wished to return to

America.

They then had embarked on the "Waldeck," paying their passage like

ordinary passengers. On the 5th of December they left Melbourne, and

seventeen days after, during a very black night, the "Waldeck" had been

struck by a large steamer.

The blacks were in bed. A few seconds after the collision, which was

terrible, they rushed on the deck.

Already the ship's masts had fallen, and the "Waldeck" was lying on the

side; but she would not sink, the water not having invaded the hold

sufficiently to cause it.

As to the captain and crew of the "Waldeck," all had disappeared,

whether some had been precipitated into the sea, whether others were

caught on the rigging of the colliding ship, which, after the

collision, had fled to return no more.

The five blacks were left alone on board, on a half-capsized hull,

twelve hundred miles from any land.

Then oldest of the negroes was named Tom. His age, as well as his

energetic character, and his experience, often put to the proof during

a long life of labor, made him the natural head of the companions who

were engaged with him.

The other blacks were young men from twenty-five to thirty years old,

whose names were Bat (abbreviation of Bartholomew), son of old Tom,

Austin, Acteon, and Hercules, all four well made and vigorous, and who

would bring a high price in the markets of Central Africa. Even though

they had suffered terribly, one could easily recognize in them

magnificent specimens of that strong race, on which a liberal

education, drawn from the numerous schools of North America, had

already impressed its seal.

Tom and his companions then found themselves alone on the "Waldeck"

after the collision, having no means of raising that inert hull,

without even power to leave it, because the two boats on board had been

shattered in the boarding. They were reduced to waiting for the passage

of a ship, while the wreck drifted little by little under the action of

the currents. This action explained why she had been encountered so far

out of her course, for the "Waldeck," having left Melbourne, ought to

be found in much lower latitude.

During the ten days which elapsed between the collision and the moment

when the "Pilgrim" arrived in sight of the shipwrecked vessel the five

blacks were sustained by some food which they had found in the office

of the landing-place. But, not being able to penetrate into the

steward's room, which the water entirely covered, they had had no

spirits to quench their thirst, and they had suffered cruelly, the

water casks fastened to the deck having been stove in by the collision.

Since the night before, Tom and his companions, tortured by thirst, had

become unconscious.

Such was the recital which Tom gave, in a few words, to Captain Hull.

There was no reason to doubt the veracity of the old black. His

companions confirmed all that he had said; besides, the facts pleaded

for the poor men.

Another living being, saved on the wreck, would doubtless have spoken

with the same sincerity if it had been gifted with speech.

It was that dog, that the sight of Negoro seemed to affect in such a

disagreeable manner. There was in that some truly inexplicable

antipathy.

Dingo--that was the name of the dog--belonged to that race of mastiffs

which is peculiar to New Holland. It was not in Australia, however,

that the captain of the "Waldeck" had found it. Two years before Dingo,

wandering half dead of hunger, had been met on the western coast of

Africa, near the mouth of the Congo. The captain of the "Waldeck" had

picked up this fine animal, who, being not very sociable, seemed to be

always regretting some old master, from whom he had been violently

separated, and whom it would be impossible to find again in that desert

country. S. V.--those two letters engraved on his collar--were all that

linked this animal to a past, whose mystery one would seek in vain to

solve.

Dingo, a magnificent and robust beast, larger than the dogs of the

Pyrenees, was then a superb specimen of the New Holland variety of

mastiffs. When it stood up, throwing its head back, it equaled the

height of a man. Its agility--its muscular strength, would be

sufficient for one of those animals which without hesitation attack

jaguars and panthers, and do not fear to face a bear. Its long tail of

thick hair, well stocked and stiff like a lion's tail, its general hue

dark fawn-color, was only varied at the nose by some whitish streaks.

This animal, under the influence of anger, might become formidable, and

it will be understood that Negoro was not satisfied with the reception

given him by this vigorous specimen of the canine race.

Meanwhile, Dingo, if it was not sociable, was not bad. It seemed rather

to be sad. An observation which had been made by old Tom on board the

"Waldeck" was that this dog did not seem to like blacks. It did not

seek to harm them, but certainly it shunned them. May be, on that

African coast where it wandered, it had suffered some bad treatment

from the natives. So, though Tom and his companions were honest men,

Dingo was never drawn toward them. During the ten days that the

shipwrecked dog had passed on the "Waldeck," it had kept at a distance,

feeding itself, they knew not how, but having also suffered cruelly

from thirst.

Such, then, were the survivors of this wreck, which the first surge of

the sea would submerge. No doubt it would have carried only dead bodies

into the depths of the ocean if the unexpected arrival of the

"Pilgrim," herself kept back by calms and contrary winds, had not

permitted Captain Hull to do a work of humanity.

This work had only to be completed by bringing back to their country

the shipwrecked men from the "Waldeck," who, in this shipwreck, had

lost their savings of three years of labor. This is what was going to

be done. The "Pilgrim," after having effected her unloading at

Valparaiso, would ascend the American coast as far as California. There

Tom and his companions would be well received by James W. Weldon--his

generous wife assured them of it--and they would be provided with all

that would be necessary for them to return to the State of Pennsylvania.

These honest men, reassured about the future, had only to thank Mrs.

Weldon and Captain Hull. Certainly they owed them a great deal, and

although they were only poor negroes, perhaps, they did not despair of

some day paying this debt of gratitude.

CHAPTER V - S. V.

Meanwhile, the "Pilgrim" had continued her course, making for the east

as much as possible. This lamentable continuance of calms did not cease

to trouble Captain Hull--not that he was uneasy about two or three

weeks' delay in a passage from New Zealand to Valparaiso, but because

of the extra fatigue which this delay might bring to his lady passenger.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Weldon did not complain, and philosophically took her

misfortune in patience.

That same day, February 2d, toward evening, the wreck was lost sight of.

Captain Hull was troubled, in the first place, to accommodate Tom and

his companions as conveniently as possible. The crew's quarters on the

"Pilgrim," built on the deck in the form of a "roufle," would be too

small to hold them. An arrangement was then made to lodge them under

the forecastle. Besides, these honest men, accustomed to rude labors,

could not be hard to please, and with fine weather, warm and

salubrious, this sleeping-place ought to suffice for the whole passage.

The life on board, shaken for a moment from its monotony by this

incident, then went on as usual.

Tom, Austin, Bat, Acteon, and Hercules would indeed wish to make

themselves useful. But with these constant winds, the sails once set,

there was nothing more to do. Meanwhile, when there was a veering

about, the old black and his companions hastened to give a hand to the

crew, and it must be confessed that when the colossal Hercules hauled

some rope, they were aware of it. This vigorous negro, six feet high,

brought in a tackle all by himself.

It was joy for little Jack to look at this giant. He was not afraid of

him, and when Hercules hoisted him up in his arms, as if he were only a

cork baby, there were cries of joy to go on.

"Lift me very high," said little Jack.

"There, Master Jack!" replied Hercules.

"Am I very heavy?"

"I do not even feel you."

"Well, higher still! To the end of your arm!" And Hercules, holding the

child's two little feet in his large hand, walked him about like a

gymnast in a circus. Jack saw himself, tall, taller, which amused him

very much. He even tried to make himself heavy--which the colossus did

not perceive at all.

Dick Sand and Hercules, they were two friends for little Jack. He was

not slow in making himself a third--that was Dingo.

It has been said that Dingo was not a sociable dog. Doubtless that held

good, because the society of the "Waldeck" did not suit it. On board

the "Pilgrim" it was quite another thing. Jack probably knew how to

touch the fine animal's heart. The latter soon took pleasure in playing

with the little boy, whom this play pleased. It was soon discovered

that Dingo was one of those dogs who have a particular taste for

children. Besides, Jack did it no harm. His greatest pleasure was to

transform Dingo into a swift steed, and it is safe to affirm that a

horse of this kind is much superior to a pasteboard quadruped, even

when it has wheels to its feet. So Jack galloped bare-back on the dog,

which let him do it willingly, and, in truth, Jack was no heavier to it

than the half of a jockey to a race-horse.

But what a break each day in the stock of sugar in the store-room!

Dingo soon became a favorite with the whole crew. Alone, Negoro

continued to avoid any encounter with the animal, whose antipathy was

always as strong as it was inexplicable.

Meanwhile, little Jack had not neglected Dick Sand, his friend of old,

for Dingo. All the time that was unclaimed by his duties on board, the

novice passed with the little boy.

Mrs. Weldon, it is needless to say, always regarded this intimacy with

the most complete satisfaction.

One day, February 6th, she spoke of Dick to Captain Hull, and the

captain praised the young novice in the highest terms.

"That boy," he said to Mrs. Weldon, "will be a good seaman some day,

I'll guarantee. He has truly a passion for the sea, and by this passion

he makes up for the theoretical parts of the calling which he has not

yet learned. What he already knows is astonishing, when we think of

the short time he has had to learn."

"It must be added," replied Mrs. Weldon, "that he is also an excellent

person, a true boy, very superior to his age, and who has never merited

any blame since we have known him."

"Yes, he is a good young man," continued the captain, "justly loved and

appreciated by all."

"This cruise finished," said Mrs. Weldon, "I know that my husband's

intention is to have him follow a course of navigation, so that, he may

afterwards obtain a captain's commission."

"And Mr. Weldon is right," replied Captain Hull. "Dick Sand will one

day do honor to the American marine."

"This poor orphan commenced life sadly," observed Mrs. Weldon. "He has

been in a hard school!"

"Doubtless, Mrs. Weldon; but the lessons have not been lost on him. He

has learned that he must make his own way in this world, and he is in a

fair way to do it."

"Yes, the way of duty!"

"Look at him now, Mrs. Weldon," continued Captain Hull. "He is at the

helm, his eye fixed on the point of the foresail. No distraction on the

part of this young novice, as well as no lurch to the ship. Dick Sand

has already the confidence of an old steersman. A good beginning for a

seaman. Our craft, Mrs. Weldon, is one of those in which it is

necessary to begin very young. He who has not been a cabin-boy will

never arrive at being a perfect seaman, at least in the merchant

marine. Everything must be learned, and, consequently, everything must

be at the same time instinctive and rational with the sailor--the

resolution to grasp, as well as the skill to execute."

"Meanwhile, Captain Hull," replied Mrs. Weldon, "good officers are not

lacking in the navy."

"No," replied Captain Hull; "but, in my opinion, the best have almost

all begun their career as children, and, without speaking of Nelson and

a few others, the worst are not those who began by being cabin-boys."

At that moment they saw Cousin Benedict springing up from the rear

companion-way. As usual he was absorbed, and as little conscious of

this world as the Prophet Elias will be when he returns to the earth.

Cousin Benedict began to walk about on the deck like an uneasy spirit,

examining closely the interstices of the netting, rummaging under the

hen-cages, putting his hand between the seams of the deck, there, where

the pitch had scaled off.

"Ah! Cousin Benedict," asked Mrs. Weldon, "do you keep well?"

"Yes--Cousin Weldon--I am well, certainly--but I am in a hurry to get

on land."

"What are you looking for under that bench, Mr. Benedict?" asked

Captain Hull.

"Insects, sir," returned Cousin Benedict. "What do you expect me to

look for, if not insects?"

"Insects! Faith, I must agree with you; but it is not at sea that you

will enrich your collection."

"And why not, sir? It is not impossible to find on board some specimen

of----"

"Cousin Benedict," said Mrs. Weldon, "do you then slander Captain Hull?

His ship is so well kept, that you will return empty-handed from your

hunt."

Captain Hull began to laugh.

"Mrs. Weldon exaggerates," replied he. "However, Mr. Benedict, I

believe you will lose your time rummaging in our cabins."

"Ah! I know it well," cried Cousin Benedict, shrugging his shoulders.

"I have had a good search----"

"But, in the 'Pilgrim's' hold," continued Captain Hull, "perhaps you

will find some cockroaches--subjects of little interest, however."

"Of little interest, those nocturnal orthopters which have incurred the

maledictions of Virgil and Horace!" retorted Cousin Benedict, standing

up straight. "Of little interest, those near relations of the

'periplaneta orientalis' and of the American kakerlac, which

inhabit----"

"Which infest!" said Captain Hull.

"Which reign on board!" retorted Cousin Benedict, fiercely.

"Amiable sovereignty!"

"Ah! you are not an entomologist, sir?"

Never at my own expense."

"Now, Cousin Benedict," said Mrs. Weldon, smiling, "do not wish us to

be devoured for love of science."

"I wish, nothing, Cousin Weldon," replied, the fiery entomologist,

"except to be able to add to my collection some rare subject which

might do it honor."

"Are you not satisfied, then, with the conquests that you have made in

New Zealand?"

"Yes, truly, Cousin Weldon. I have been rather fortunate in conquering

one of those new staphylins which till now had only been found some

hundreds of miles further, in New Caledonia."

At that moment Dingo, who was playing with Jack, approached Cousin

Benedict, gamboling.

"Go away! go away!" said the latter, pushing off the animal.

"To love cockroaches and detest dogs!" cried Captain Hull. "Oh! Mr.

Benedict!"

"A good dog, notwithstanding," said little Jack, taking Dingo's great

head in his small hands.

"Yes. I do not say no," replied Cousin Benedict. "But what do you want?

This devil of an animal has not realized the hopes I conceived on

meeting it."

"Ah! my goodness!" cried Mrs. Weldon, "did you, then, hope to be able

to classify it in the order of the dipters or the hymenopters?"

"No," replied Cousin Benedict, seriously. "But is it not true that this

Dingo, though it be of the New Zealand race, was picked up on the

western coast of Africa?"

"Nothing is more true," replied Mrs. Weldon, "and Tom had often heard

the captain of the 'Waldeck' say so."

"Well, I had thought--I had hoped--that this dog would have brought

away some specimens of hemipteras peculiar to the African fauna."

"Merciful heavens!" cried Mrs. Weldon.

"And that perhaps," added Cousin Benedict, "some penetrating or

irritating flea--of a new species----"

"Do you understand, Dingo?" said Captain Hull. "Do you understand, my

dog? You have failed in all your duties!"

"But I have examined it well," added the entomologist, with an accent

of deep regret. "I have not been able to find a single insect."

"Which you would have immediately and mercilessly put to death, I

hope!" cried Captain Hull.

"Sir," replied Cousin Benedict, dryly, "learn that Sir John Franklin

made a scruple of killing the smallest insect, be it a mosquito, whose

attacks are otherwise formidable as those of a flea; and meanwhile you

will not hesitate to allow, that Sir John Franklin was a seaman who was

as good as the next."

"Surely," said Captain Hull, bowing.

"And one day, after being frightfully devoured by a dipter, he blew and

sent it away, saying to it, without even using thou or thee: 'Go!

the world is large enough for you and for me!'"

"Ah!" ejaculated Captain Hull.

"Yes, sir."

"Well, Mr. Benedict," retorted Captain Hull, "another had said that

long before Sir John Franklin."

"Another?"

"Yes; and that other was Uncle Toby."

"An entomologist?" asked Cousin Benedict, quickly.

"No! Sterne's Uncle Toby, and that worthy uncle pronounced precisely

the same words, while setting free a mosquito that annoyed him, but

which he thought himself at liberty to thee and thou: 'Go, poor

devil,' he said to it, 'the world is large enough to contain us, thee

and me!'"

"An honest man, that Uncle Toby!" replied Cousin Benedict. "Is he dead?"

"I believe so, indeed," retorted Captain Hull, gravely, "as he has

never existed!"

And each began to laugh, looking at Cousin Benedict.

Thus, then, in these conversations, and many others, which invariably

bore on some point of entomological science, whenever Cousin Benedict

took part, passed away long hours of this navigation against contrary

winds. The sea always fine, but winds which obliged the schooner to

tack often. The "Pilgrim" made very little headway toward the east--the

breeze was so feeble; and they longed to reach those parts where the

prevailing winds would be more favorable.

It must be stated here that Cousin Benedict had endeavored to initiate

the young novice into the mysteries of entomology. But Dick Sand had

shown himself rather refractory to these advances. For want of better

company the savant had fallen back on the negroes, who comprehended

nothing about it. Tom, Acteon, Bat, and Austin had even finished by

deserting the class, and the professor found himself reduced to

Hercules alone, who seemed to him to have some natural disposition to

distinguish a parasite from a thysanuran.

So the gigantic black lived in the world of coleopteras, carnivorous

insects, hunters, gunners, ditchers, cicindelles, carabes, sylphides,

moles, cockchafers, horn-beetles, tenebrions, mites, lady-birds,

studying all Cousin Benedict's collection, not but the latter trembled

on seeing his frail specimens in Hercules' great hands, which were hard

and strong as a vise. But the colossal pupil listened so quietly to the

professor's lessons that it was worth risking something to give them.

While Cousin Benedict worked in that manner, Mrs. Weldon did not leave

little Jack entirely unoccupied; She taught him to read and to write.

As to arithmetic, it was his friend Dick Sand who inculcated the first

elements.

At the age of five, one is still only a little child, and is perhaps

better instructed by practical games than by theoretical lessons

necessarily a little arduous.

Jack learned to read, not in a primer, but by means of movable letters,

printed in red on cubes of wood. He amused himself by arranging the

blocks so as to form words. Sometimes Mrs. Weldon took these cubes and

composed a word; then she disarranged them, and it was for Jack to

replace them in the order required.

The little boy liked this manner of learning to read very much. Each

day he passed some hours, sometimes in the cabin, sometimes on the

deck, in arranging and disarranging the letters of his alphabet.

Now, one day this led to an incident so extraordinary, so unexpected,

that it is necessary to relate with some detail.

It was on the morning of February 9th, Jack, half-lying on the deck,

was amusing himself forming a word which old Tom was to put together

again, after the letters had been mixed. Tom, with his hand over his

eyes so as not to cheat, as he agreed, would see nothing, and did see

nothing of the work of the little boy.

Of these different letters, about fifty in number, some were large,

others small. Besides, some of these cubes carried a figure, which

taught the child to form numbers as well as to form words.

These cubes were arranged on the deck, and little Jack was taking

sometimes one, sometimes another, to make a word--a truly great labor.

Now, for same moments, Dingo was moving round the young child, when

suddenly it stopped. Its eyes became fixed, its right paw was raised,

its tail wagged convulsively. Then, suddenly throwing itself on one of

the cubes, it seized it in its mouth and laid it on the deck a few

steps from Jack.

This cube bore a large letter--the letter S.

"Dingo, well Dingo!" cried the little boy, who at first was afraid that

his S was swallowed by the dog.

But Dingo had returned, and, beginning the same performance again, it

seized another cube, and went to lay it near the first.

This second cube was a large V.

This time Jack gave a cry.

At this cry, Mrs. Weldon, Captain Hull, and the young novice, who were

walking on the deck, assembled. Little Jack then told them what had

just passed.

Dingo knew its letters; Dingo knew how to read! That was very certain,

that! Jack had seen it!

Dick Sand wanted to go and take the two cubes, to restore them to his

friend Jack, but Dingo showed him its teeth.

However, the novice succeeded in gaining possession of the two cubes,

and he replaced them in the set.

Dingo advanced again, seized again the same two letters, and carried

them to a distance. This time its two paws lay on them; it seemed

decided to guard them at all hazards. As to the other letters of the

alphabet, it did not seem as if it had any knowledge of them.

"That is a curious thing," said Mrs. Weldon.

"It is, in fact, very singular," replied Captain Hull, who was looking

attentively at the two letters.

"S. V.," said Mrs. Weldon.

"S. V.," repeated Captain Hull. "But those are precisely the letters

which are on Dingo's collar!"

Then, all at once, turning to the old black: "Tom," he asked, "have you

not told me that this dog only belonged to the captain of the 'Waldeck'

for a short time?"

"In fact, sir," replied Tom, "Dingo was only on board two years at the

most."

"And have you not added that the captain of the 'Waldeck' had picked up

this dog on the western coast of Africa?"

"Yes, sir, in the neighborhood of the mouth of the Congo. I have often

heard the captain say so."

"So," asked Captain Hull, "it has never been known to whom this dog had

belonged, nor whence it came?"

"Never, sir. A dog found is worse than a child! That has no papers,

and, more, it cannot explain."

Captain Hull was silent, and reflected.

"Do those two letters, then, awake some remembrance?" Mrs. Weldon asked

Captain Hull, after leaving him to his reflections for some moments.

"Yes, Mrs. Weldon, a remembrance, or rather a coincidence at least

singular."

What?"

"Those two letters might well have a meaning, and fix for us the fate

of an intrepid traveler."

"What do you mean?" demanded Mrs. Weldon.

"Here is what I mean, Mrs. Weldon. In 1871--consequently two years

ago--a French traveler set out, under the auspices of the Paris

Geographical Society, with the intention of crossing Africa from the

west to the east. His point of departure was precisely the mouth of the

Congo. His point of arrival would be as near as possible to Cape

Deldago, at the mouths of the Rovuma, whose course he would descend.

Now, this French traveler was named Samuel Vernon."

"Samuel Vernon!" repeated Mrs. Weldon.

"Yes, Mrs. Weldon; and those two names begin precisely by those two

letters which Dingo has chosen among all the others, and which are

engraved on its collar."

"Exactly," replied Mrs. Weldon. "And that traveler----"

"That traveler set out," replied Captain Hull, "and has not been heard

of since his departure."

"Never?" said the novice.

"Never," repeated Captain Hull.

"What do you conclude from it?" asked Mrs. Weldon.

"That, evidently, Samuel Vernon has not been able to reach the eastern

coast of Africa, whether he may have been made prisoner by the natives,

whether death may have struck him on the way."

"And then this dog?"

"This dog would have belonged to him; and, more fortunate than its

master, if my hypothesis is true, it would have been able to return to

the Congo coast, because it was there, at the time when these events

must have taken place, that it was picked up by the captain of the

'Waldeck.'"

"But," observed Mrs. Weldon, "do you know if this French traveler was

accompanied on his departure by a dog? Is it not a mere supposition on

your part?"

"It is only a supposition, indeed, Mrs. Weldon," replied Captain Hull.

"But what is certain is, that Dingo knows these two letters S and V,

which are precisely the initials of the two names of the French

traveler. Now, under what circumstances this animal would learn to

distinguish them is what I cannot explain; but, I repeat it, it very

certainly knows them; and look, it pushes them with its paw, and seems

to invite us to read them with it."

In fact, they could not misunderstand Dingo's intention.

"Then was Samuel Vernon alone when he left the sea-coast of the Congo?"

ask Dick Sand.

"That I know not," replied Captain Hull. "However, it is probable that

he would take a native escort."

At that moment Negoro, leaving his post, showed himself on the deck. At

first no one remarked his presence, and could not observe the singular

look he cast on the dog when he perceived the two letters over which

the animal seem to mount guard. But Dingo, having perceived the

master-cook, began to show signs of the most extreme fury.

Negoro returned immediately to the crew's quarters, not without a

menacing gesture at the dog's skill having escaped him.

"There is some mystery there," murmured Captain Hull, who had lost none

of this little scene.

"But, sir," said the novice, "is it not very astonishing that a dog

should know the letters of the alphabet?"

"No!" cried little Jack. "Mama has often told me the story of a dog

which knew how to read and write, and even play dominoes, like a real

schoolmaster!"

"My dear child," replied Mrs. Weldon, smiling, "that dog, whose name

was Munito, was not a savant, as you suppose. If I may believe what has

been told me about it, Munito would not have been able to distinguish

the letters which served to compose the words. But its master, a clever

American, having remarked what fine hearing Munito had, applied himself

to cultivating that sense, and to draw from it some very curious

effects."

"How did he set to work, Mrs. Weldon?" asked Dick Sand, whom the

history interested almost as much as little Jack.

"In this way, my friend." When Munito was 'to appear' before the

public, letters similar to these were displayed on a table. On that

table the poodle walked about, waiting till a word was proposed,

whether in a loud voice or in a low voice. Only, one essential

condition was that its master should know the word."

"And, in the absence of its master--" said the novice.

"The dog could have done nothing," replied Mrs. Weldon, "and here is

the reason. The letters spread out on the table, Munito walked about

through this alphabet. When it arrived before the letter which it

should choose to form the word required, it stopped; but if it stopped

it was because it heard the noise--imperceptible to all others--of a

toothpick that the American snapped in his pocket. That noise was the

signal for Munito to take the letter and arrange it in suitable order."

"And that was all the secret?" cried Dick Sand.

"That was the whole secret," replied Mrs. Weldon. "It is very simple,

like all that is done in the matter of prestidigitation. In case of the

American's absence, Munito would be no longer Munito. I am, then,

astonished, his master not being there--if, indeed, the traveler,

Samuel Vernon, has ever been its master--that Dingo could have

recognized those two letters."

"In fact," replied Captain Hull, "it is very astonishing. But, take

notice, there are only two letters in question here, two particular

letters, and not a word chosen by chance. After all, that dog which

rang at the door of a convent to take possession of the plate intended

for the poor passers-by, that other which commissioned at the same time

with one of its kind, to turn the spit for two days each, and which

refused to fill that office when its turn had not come, those two dogs,

I say, advanced farther than Dingo into that domain of intelligence

reserved for man. Besides, we are in the presence of an inscrutable

fact. Of all the letters of that alphabet, Dingo has only chosen these

two: S and V. The others it does not even seem to know. Therefore we

must conclude that, for a reason which escapes us, its attention has

been especially drawn to those two letters."

"Ah! Captain Hull," replied the young novice, "if Dingo could speak!

Perhaps he would tell us what those two letters signify, and why it has

kept a tooth ready for our head cook."

"And what a tooth!" replied Captain Hull, as Dingo, opening its mouth,

showed its formidable fangs.

*       *       *       *       *

CHAPTER VI - A WHALE IN SIGHT.

It will be remembered that this singular incident was made, more than

once, the subject of conversation held in the stern of the "Pilgrim"

between Mrs. Weldon, Captain Hull, and the young novice. The latter,

more particularly, experienced an instinctive mistrust with regard to

Negoro, whose conduct, meanwhile, merited no reproach.

In the prow they talked of it also, but they did not draw from it the

same conclusions. There, among the ship's crew, Dingo passed merely for

a dog that knew how to read, and perhaps even write, better than more

than one sailor on board. As for talking, if he did not do it, it was

probably for good reasons that he kept silent.

"But, one of these fine days," says the steersman, Bolton, "one fine

day that dog will come and ask us how we are heading; if the wind is to

the west-north-west-half-north, and we will have to answer him! There

are animals that speak! Well, why should not a dog do as much if he

took it into his head? It is more difficult to talk with a beak than

with a mouth!"

"No doubt," replied the boatswain, Howik. "Only it has never been

known."

It would have astonished these brave men to tell them that, on the

contrary, it had been known, and that a certain Danish servant

possessed a dog which pronounced distinctly twenty words. But whether

this animal comprehended what he said was a mystery. Very evidently

this dog, whose glottis was organized in a manner to enable him to emit

regular sounds, attached no more sense to his words than do the

paroquets, parrots, jackdaws, and magpies to theirs. A phrase with

animals is nothing more than a kind of song or spoken cry, borrowed

from a strange language of which they do not know the meaning.

However that might be, Dingo had become the hero of the deck, of which

fact he took no proud advantage. Several times Captain Hull repeated

the experiment. The wooden cubes of the alphabet were placed before

Dingo, and invariably, without an error, without hesitation, the two

letters, S and V, were chosen from among all by the singular animal,

while the others never attracted his attention.

As for Cousin Benedict, this experiment was often renewed before him,

without seeming to interest him.

"Meanwhile," he condescended to say one day, "we must not believe that

the dogs alone have the privilege of being intelligent in this manner.

Other animals equal them, simply in following their instinct. Look at

the rats, who abandon the ship destined to founder at sea; the beavers,

who know how to foresee the rising of the waters, and build their dams

higher in consequence; those horses of Nicomedes, of Scanderberg, and

of Oppien, whose grief was such that they died when their masters did;

those asses, so remarkable for their memory, and many other beasts

which have done honor to the animal kingdom. Have we not seen birds,

marvelously erect, that correctly write words dictated by their

professors; cockatoos that count, as well as a reckoner in the

Longitude Office, the number of persons present in a parlor? Has there

not existed a parrot, worth a hundred gold crowns, that recited the

Apostle's Creed to the cardinal, his master, without missing a word?

Finally, the legitimate pride of an entomologist should be raised to

the highest point, when he sees simple insects give proofs of a

superior intelligence, and affirm eloquently the axiom:

"'In minimis maximus Deus,'

those ants which, represent the inspectors of public works in the

largest cities, those aquatic argyronetes which manufacture

diving-bells, without having ever learned the mechanism; those fleas

which draw carriages like veritable coachmen, which go through the

exercise as well as riflemen, which fire off cannon better than the

commissioned artillerymen of West Point? No! this Dingo does not merit

so many eulogies, and if he is so strong on the alphabet, it is,

without doubt, because he belongs to a species of mastiff, not yet

classified in zoological science, the canis alphabeticus of New

Zealand."

In spite of these discourses and others of the envious entomologist,

Dingo lost nothing in the public estimation, and continued to be

treated as a phenomenon in the conversations of the forecastle.

All this time, it is probable that Negoro did not share the enthusiasm

of the ship in regard to the animal. Perhaps he found it too

intelligent. However, the dog always showed the same animosity against

the head cook, and, doubtless, would have brought upon itself some

misfortune, if it had not been, for one thing, "a dog to defend

itself," and for another, protected by the sympathy of the whole crew.

So Negoro avoided coming into Dingo's presence more than ever. But Dick

Sand had observed that since the incident of the two letters, the

reciprocal antipathy between the man and the dog was increased. That

was truly inexplicable.

On February 10th, the wind from the northeast, which, till then, had

always succeeded those long and overwhelming calms, during which the

"Pilgrim" was stationary, began to abate perceptibly. Captain Hull then

could hope that a change in the direction of the atmospheric currents

was going to take place. Perhaps the schooner would finally sail with

the wind. It was still only nineteen days since her departure from the

port of Auckland. The delay was not yet of much account, and, with a

favorable wind, the "Pilgrim," well rigged, would easily make up for

lost time. But several days must still elapse before the breezes would

blow right from the west.

This part of the Pacific was always deserted. No vessel showed itself

in these parts. It was a latitude truly forsaken by navigators. The

whalers of the southern seas were not yet prepared to go beyond the

tropic. On the "Pilgrim," which peculiar circumstances had obliged to

leave the fishing grounds before the end of the season, they must not

expect to cross any ship bound for the same destination.

As to the trans-pacific packet-boats, it has been already said that

they did not follow so high a parallel in their passages between

Australia and the American continent.

However, even if the sea is deserted, one must not give up observing it

to the extreme limits of the horizon. Monotonous as it may appear to

heedless minds, it is none the less infinitely varied for him who knows

how to comprehend it. Its slightest changes charm the imagination of

one who feels the poetry of the ocean. A marine herb which floats up

and down on the waves, a branch of sargasso whose light track zebras,

the surface of the waters, and end of a board, whose history he would

wish to guess, he would need nothing more. Facing this infinite, the

mind is no longer stopped by anything. Imagination runs riot. Each of

those molecules of water, that evaporation is continually changing from

the sea to the sky, contains perhaps the secret of some catastrophe.

So, those are to be envied, whose inner consciousness knows how to

interrogate the mysteries of the ocean, those spirits who rise from its

moving surface to the heights of heaven.

Besides, life always manifests itself above as well as below the seas.

The "Pilgrim's" passengers could see flights of birds excited in the

pursuit of the smallest fishes, birds which, before winter, fly from

the cold climate of the poles. And more than once, Dick Sand, a scholar

of Mrs. Weldon's in that branch as in others, gave proofs of marvelous

skill with the gun and pistol, in bringing down some of those

rapid-winged creatures.

There were white petrels here; there, other petrels, whose wings were

embroidered with brown. Sometimes, also, companies of damiers passed,

or some of those penquins whose gait on land is so heavy and so

ridiculous. However, as Captain Hull remarked, these penquins, using

their stumps like true fins, can challenge the most rapid fishes in

swimming, to such an extent even, that sailors have often confounded

them with bonitoes.

Higher, gigantic albatrosses beat the air with great strokes,

displaying an extent of ten feet between the extremities of their

wings, and then came to light on the surface of the waters, which they

searched with their beaks to get their food.

All these scenes made a varied spectacle, that only souls closed to the

charms of nature would have found monotonous.

That day Mrs. Weldon was walking aft on the "Pilgrim," when a rather

curious phenomenon attracted her attention. The waters of the sea had

become reddish quite suddenly. One might have believed that they had

just been stained with blood; and this inexplicable tinge extended as

far as the eye could reach.

Dick Sand. was then with little Jack near Mrs. Weldon.

"Dick," she said to the young novice, "Do you see that singular color

of the waters of the Pacific? Is it due to the presence of a marine

herb?"

"No, Mrs. Weldon," replied Dick Sand, "that tinge is produced by

myriads of little crustaceans, which generally serve to nourish the

great mammifers. Fishermen call that, not without reason, 'whales'

food.'"

"Crustaceans!" said Mrs. Weldon. "But they are so small that we might

almost call them sea insects. Perhaps Cousin Benedict would be very

much enchanted to make a collection of them." Then calling: "Cousin

Benedict!" cried she.

Cousin Benedict appeared out of the companion-way almost at the same

time as Captain Hull.

"Cousin Benedict," said Mrs. Weldon, "see that immense reddish field

which extends as far as we can see."

"Hold!" said Captain Hull. "That is whales' food. Mr. Benedict, a fine

occasion to study this curious species of crustacea."

"Phew!" from the entomologist.

"How--phew!" cried the captain. "But you have no right to profess such

indifference. These crustaceans form one of the six classes of the

articulates, if I am not mistaken, and as such----"

"Phew!" said Cousin Benedict again, shaking his lead.

"For instance----I find you passably disdainful for an entomologist!"

"Entomologist, it may be," replied Cousin Benedict, "but more

particularly hexapodist, Captain Hull, please remember."

"At all events," replied Captain Hull, "if these crustaceans do not

interest you, it can't be helped; but it would be otherwise if you

possessed a whale's stomach. Then what a regale! Do you see, Mrs.

Weldon, when we whalers, during the fishing season, arrive in sight of

a shoal of these crustaceans, we have only time to prepare our harpoons

and our lines. We are certain that the game is not distant."

"Is it possible that such little beasts can feed such large ones?"

cried Jack.

"Ah! my boy," replied Captain Hull, "little grains of vermicelli, of

flour, of fecula powder, do they not make very good porridge? Yes; and

nature has willed that it should be so. When a whale floats in the

midst of these red waters, its soup is served; it has only to open its

immense mouth. Myriads of crustaceans enter it. The numerous plates of

those whalebones with which the animal's palate is furnished serve to

strain like fishermen's nets; nothing can get out of them again, and

the mass of crustaceans is ingulfed in the whale's vast stomach, as the

soup of your dinner in yours."

"You think right, Jack," observed Dick Sand, "that Madam Whale does not

lose time in picking these crustaceans one by one, as you pick shrimps."

"I may add," said Captain Hull, "that it is just when the enormous

gourmand is occupied in this way, that it is easiest to approach it

without exciting its suspicion. That is the favorable moment to harpoon

it with some success."

At that instant, and as if to corroborate Captain Hull, a sailor's

voice was heard from the front of the ship:

"A whale to larboard!"

Captain Hull strode up.

"A whale!" cried he.

And his fisherman's instinct urging him, he hastened to the "Pilgrim's"

forecastle.

Mrs. Weldon, Jack, Dick Sand, Cousin Benedict himself, followed him at

once.

In fact, four miles to windward a certain bubbling indicated that a

huge marine mammifer was moving in the midst of the red waters. Whalers

could not be mistaken in it. But the distance was still too

considerable to make it possible to recognize the species to which this

mammifer belonged. These species, in fact, are quite distinct.

Was it one of those "right" whales, which the fishermen of the Northern

Ocean seek most particularly? Those cetaceans, which lack the dorsal

fin, but whose skin covers a thick stratum of lard, may attain a length

of eighty feet, though the average does not exceed sixty, and then a

single one of those monsters furnishes as much as a hundred barrels of

oil.

Was it, on the contrary, a "humpback," belonging to the species of

baloenopters, a designation whose termination should at least gain it

the entomologist's esteem? These possess dorsal fins, white in color,

and as long as half the body, which resemble a pair of wings--something

like a flying whale.

Had they not in view, more likely, a "finback" mammifer, as well known

by the name "jubarte," which is provided with a dorsal fin, and whose

length may equal that of the "right" whale?

Captain Hull and his crew could not yet decide, but they regarded the

animal with more desire than admiration.

If it is true that a clockmaker cannot find himself in a room in the

presence of a clock without experiencing the irresistible wish to wind

it up, how much more must the whaler, before a whale, be seized with

the imperative desire to take possession of it? The hunters of large

game, they say, are more eager than the hunters of small game. Then,

the larger the animal, the more it excites covetousness. Then, how

should hunters of elephants and fishers of whalers feel? And then there

was that disappointment, felt by all the "Pilgrim's" crew, of returning

with an incomplete cargo.

Meanwhile, Captain Hull tried to distinguish the animal which had been

signaled in the offing. It was not very visible from that distance.

Nevertheless, the trained eye of a whaler could not be deceived in

certain details easier to discern at a distance.

In fact, the water-spout, that is, that column of vapor and water which

the whale throws back by its rents, would attract Captain Hull's

attention, and fix it on the species to which this cetacean belonged.

"That is not a 'right' whale," cried he. "Its water-spout would be at

once higher and of a smaller volume. On the other hand, if the noise

made by that spout in escaping could be compared to the distant noise

of a cannon, I should be led to believe that that whale belongs to the

species of 'humpbacks;' but there is nothing of the kind, and, on

listening, we are assured that this noise is of quite a different

nature. What is your opinion on this subject, Dick?" asked Captain

Hull, turning toward the novice.

"I am ready to believe, captain," replied Dick Sand, "that we have to

do with a jubarte. See how his rents throw that column of liquid

violently into the air. Does it not seem to you also--which would

confirm my idea--that that spout contains more water than condensed

vapor? And, if I am not mistaken, it is a special peculiarity of the

jubarte."

"In fact, Dick," replied Captain Hull, "there is no longer any doubt

possible! It is a jubarte which floats on the surface of these red

waters."

"That's fine," cried little Jack.

"Yes, my boy! and when we think that the great beast is there, in

process of breakfasting, and little suspecting that the whalers are

watching it."

"I would dare to affirm that it is a jubarte of great size," observed

Dick Sand.

"Truly," replied Captain Hull, who was gradually becoming more excited.

"I think it is at least seventy feet long!"

"Good!" added the boatswain. "Half a dozen whales of that size would

suffice to fill a ship as large as ours!"

"Yes, that would be sufficient," replied Captain Hull, who mounted on

the bowsprit to see better.

"And with this one," added the boatswain, "we should take on board in a

few hours the half of the two hundred barrels of oil which we lack."

"Yes!--truly--yes!" murmured Captain Hull.

"That is true," continued Dick Sand; "but it is sometimes a hard matter

to attack those enormous jubartes!"

"Very hard, very hard!" returned Captain Hull. "Those baloenopters have

formidable tails, which must not be approached without distrust. The

strongest pirogue would not resist a well-given blow. But, then, the

profit is worth the trouble!"

"Bah!" said one of the sailors, "a fine jubarte is all the same a fine

capture!"

"And profitable!" replied another.

"It would be a pity not to salute this one on the way!"

It was evident that these brave sailors were growing excited in looking

at the whale. It was a whole cargo of barrels of oil that was floating

within reach of their hands. To hear them, without doubt there was

nothing more to be done, except to stow those barrels in the

"Pilgrim's" hold to complete her lading. Some of the sailors, mounted

on the ratlines of the fore-shrouds, uttered longing cries. Captain

Hull, who no longer spoke, was in a dilemma. There was something there,

like an irresistible magnet, which attracted the "Pilgrim" and all her

crew.

"Mama, mama!" then cried little Jack, "I should like to have the whale,

to see how it is made."

"Ah! you wish to have this whale, my boy? Ah! why not, my friends?"

replied Captain Hull, finally yielding to his secret desire. "Our

additional fishermen are lacking, it is true, but we alone----"

"Yes! yes!" cried the sailors, with a single voice.

"This will not be the first time that I have followed the trade of

harpooner," added Captain Hull, "and you will see if I still know how

to throw the harpoon!"

"Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" responded the crew.

*       *       *       *       *

CHAPTER VII - PREPARATIONS.

It will be understood that the sight of this prodigious mammifer was

necessary to produce such excitement on board the "Pilgrim."

The whale, which floated in the middle of the red waters, appeared

enormous. To capture it, and thus complete the cargo, that was very

tempting. Could fishermen let such an occasion escape them?

However, Mrs. Weldon believed she ought to ask Captain Hull if it was

not dangerous for his men and for him to attack a whale under those

circumstances.

"No, Mrs. Weldon," replied Captain Hull. "More than once it has been my

lot to hunt the whale with a single boat, and I have always finished by

taking possession of it. I repeat it, there is no danger for us, nor,

consequently, for yourself."

Mrs. Weldon, reassured, did not persist.

Captain Hull at once made his preparations for capturing the jubarte.

He knew by experience that the pursuit of that baloenopter was not free

from difficulties, and he wished to parry all.

What rendered this capture less easy was that the schooner's crew could

only work by means of a single boat, while the "Pilgrim" possessed a

long-boat, placed on its stocks between the mainmast and the

mizzen-mast, besides three whale-boats, of which two were suspended on

the larboard and starboard pegs, and the third aft, outside the

crown-work.

Generally these three whale-boats were employed simultaneously in the

pursuit of cetaceans. But during the fishing season, we know, an

additional crew, hired at the stations of New Zealand, came to the

assistance of the "Pilgrim's" sailors.

Now, in the present circumstances, the "Pilgrim" could only furnish the

five sailors on board--that is, enough to arm a single whale-boat. To

utilize the group of Tom and his friends, who had offered themselves at

once, was impossible. In fact, the working of a fishing pirogue

requires very well trained seamen. A false move of the helm, or a false

stroke of an oar, would be enough to compromise the safety of the

whale-boat during an attack.

On the other hand, Captain Hull did not wish to leave his ship without

leaving on board at least one man from the crew, in whom he had

confidence. It was necessary to provide for all eventualities.

Now Captain Hull, obliged to choose strong seamen to man the

whale-boat, was forced to put on Dick Sand the care of guarding the

"Pilgrim."

"Dick," said he to him, "I shall charge you to remain on board during

my absence, which I hope will be short."

"Well, sir," replied the young novice.

Dick Sand would have wished to take part in this fishing, which had a

great attraction for him, but he understood that, for one reason, a

man's arms were worth more than his for service in a whale-boat, and

that for another, he alone could replace Captain Hull. So he was

satisfied. The whale-boat's crew must be composed of the five men,

including the master, Howik, which formed the whole crew of the

"Pilgrim." The four sailors were going to take their places at the

oars, and Howik would hold the stern oar, which serves to guide a boat

of this kind. A simple rudder, in fact, would not have a prompt enough

action, and in case the side oars should be disabled, the stern oar,

well handled, could put the whale-boat beyond the reach of the

monster's blows.

There was only Captain Hull besides. He had reserved to himself the

post of harpooner, and, as he had said, this would not be his first

attempt. It was he who must first throw the harpoon, then watch the

unrolling of the long line fastened at its end; then, finally finish

the animal with spears, when it should return to the surface of the

ocean.

Whalers sometimes employ firearms for this kind of fishing. By means of

a special instrument, a sort of small cannon, stationed either on board

the ship or at the front of the boat, they throw either a harpoon,

which draws with it the rope fastened to its end, or explosive balls,

which produce great ravages in the body of the animal.

But the "Pilgrim" was not furnished with apparatus of this kind. This

was, besides, an instrument of high price, rather difficult to manage,

and fishermen, but little friendly to innovations, seem to prefer the

employment of primitive weapons, which they use skilfully--that is to

say,--the harpoon and spear.

It was then by the usual method, attacking the whale with the sword,

that Captain Hull was going to attempt to capture the jubarte signaled

five miles from his ship.

Besides, the weather would favor this expedition. The sea, being very

calm, was propitious for the working of a whale-boat. The wind was

going down, and the "Pilgrim" would only drift in an insensible manner

while her crew were occupied in the offing.

So the starboard whale-boat was immediately lowered, and the four

sailors went into it.

Howik passed them two of those long spears which serve as harpoons,

then two long lances with sharp points. To those offensive arms he

added five coils of those strong flexible ropes that the whalers call

"lines," and which measure six hundred feet in length. Less would not

do, for it sometimes happens that these cords, fastened end to end, are

not enough for the "demand," the whale plunges down so deep.

Such were the different weapons which were carefully disposed in the

front of the boat.

Howik and the four sailors only waited for the order to let go the rope.

A single place was vacant in the prow of the whale-boat--that which

Captain Hull would occupy.

It is needless to say that the "Pilgrim's" crew, before quitting her,

had brought the ship's sails aback. In other words, the yards were

braced in such a manner that the sails, counteracting their action,

kept the vessel almost stationary.

Just as he was about to embark, Captain Hull gave a last glance at his

ship. He was sure that all was in order, the halliards well turned, the

sails suitably trimmed. As he was leaving the young novice on board

during an absence which might last several hours, he wished, with a

good reason, that unless for some urgent cause, Dick Sand would not

have to execute a single maneuver.

At the moment of departing he gave the young man some last words of

advice.

"Dick," said he, "I leave you alone. Watch over everything. If, as is

possible, it should become necessary to get the ship under way, in case

we should be led too far in pursuit of this jubarte, Tom and his

companions could come to your aid perfectly well. After telling them

clearly what they would have to do, I am assured that they would do it."

"Yes, Captain Hull," replied old Tom, "and Mr. Dick can count on us."

"Command! command!" cried Bat. "We have such a strong desire to make

ourselves useful."

"On what must we pull?" asked Hercules, turning up the large sleeves of

his jacket.

"On nothing just now," replied Dick Sand, smiling.

"At your service," continued the colossus.

"Dick," continued Captain Hull, "the weather is beautiful. The wind has

gone down. There is no indication that it will freshen again. Above

all, whatever may happen, do not put a boat to sea, and do not leave

the ship."

"That is understood."

"If it should become necessary for the 'Pilgrim' to come to us, I shall

make a signal to you, by hoisting a flag at the end of a boat-hook."

"Rest assured, captain, I shall not lose sight of the whale-boat,"

replied Dick Sand.

"Good, my boy," replied Captain Hull. "Courage and coolness. Behold

yourself assistant captain. Do honor to your grade. No one has been

such at your age!"

Dick Sand did not reply, but he blushed while smiling. Captain Hull

understood that blush and that smile.

"The honest boy!" he said to himself; "modesty and good humor, in

truth, it is just like him!"

Meanwhile, by these urgent recommendations, it was plain that, even

though there would be no danger in doing it, Captain Hull did not leave

his ship willingly, even for a few hours. But an irresistible

fisherman's instinct, above all, the strong desire to complete his

cargo of oil, and not fall short of the engagements made by James W.

Weldon in Valparaiso, all that told him to attempt the adventure.

Besides, that sea, so fine, was marvelously conducive to the pursuit of

a cetacean. Neither his crew nor he could resist such a temptation. The

fishing cruise would be finally complete, and this last consideration

touched Captain Hull's heart above everything.

Captain Hull went toward the ladder.

"I wish you success," said Mrs. Weldon to him.

"Thank you, Mrs. Weldon."

"I beg you, do not do too much harm to the poor whale," cried little

Jack.

"No, my boy," replied Captain Hull.

"Take it very gently, sir."

"Yes--with gloves, little Jack."

"Sometimes," observed Cousin Benedict, "we find rather curious insects

on the back of these large mammals."

"Well, Mr. Benedict," replied Captain Hull, laughing, "you shall have

the right to 'entomologize' when our jubarte will be alongside of the

'Pilgrim.'"

Then turning to Tom:

"Tom, I count on your companions and you," said he, "to assist us in

cutting up the whale, when it is lashed to the ship's hull--which will

not be long."

"At your disposal, sir," replied the old black.

"Good!" replied Captain Hull.

"Dick, these honest men will aid you in preparing the empty barrels.

During our absence they will bring them on deck, and by this means the

work will go fast on our return."

"That shall be done, captain."

For the benefit of those who do not know, it is necessary to say that

the jubarte, once dead, must be towed as far as the "Pilgrim," and

firmly lashed to her starboard side. Then the sailors, shod in boots,

with cramp-hooks would take their places on the back of the enormous

cetacean, and cut it up methodically in parallel bands marked off from

the head to the tail. These bands would be then cut across in slices of

a foot and a half, then divided into pieces, which, after being stowed

in the barrels, would be sent to the bottom of the hold.

Generally the whaling ship, when the fishing is over, manages to land

as soon as possible, so as to finish her manipulations. The crew lands,

and then proceeds to melt the lard, which, under the action of the

heat, gives up all its useful part--that is, the oil. In this

operation, the whale's lard weighs about a third of its weight.

But, under present circumstances, Captain Hull could not dream of

putting back to finish that operation. He only counted on melting this

quantity of lard at Valparaiso. Besides, with winds which could not

fail to hail from the west, he hoped to make the American coast before

twenty days, and that lapse of time could not compromise the results of

his fishing.

The moment for setting out had come. Before the "Pilgrim's" sails had

been brought aback, she had drawn a little nearer to the place where

the jubarte continued to signal its presence by jets of vapor and water.

The jubarte was all this time swimming in the middle of the vast red

field of crustaceans, opening its large mouth automatically, and

absorbing at each draught myriads of animalcules.

According to the experienced ones on board, there was no fear that the

whale dreamt of escaping. It was, doubtless, what the whalers call a

"fighting" whale.

Captain Hull strode over the netting, and, descending the rope ladder,

he reached the prow of the whale-boat.

Mrs. Weldon, Jack, Cousin Benedict, Tom, and his companions, for a last

time wished the captain success.

Dingo itself, rising on its paws and passing its head above the

railing, seemed to wish to say good-by to the crew.

Then all returned to the prow, so as to lose none of the very

attractive movements of such a fishing.

The whale-boat put off, and, under the impetus of its four oars,

vigorously handled, it began to distance itself from the "Pilgrim."

"Watch well, Dick, watch well!" cried Captain Hull to the young novice

for the last time.

"Count on me, sir."

"One eye for the ship, one eye for the whale-boat, my boy. Do not

forget it."

"That shall be done, captain," replied Dick Sand, who went to take his

place near the helm.

Already the light boat was several hundred feet from the ship. Captain

Hull, standing at the prow, no longer able to make himself heard,

renewed his injunctions by the most expressive gestures.

It was then that Dingo, its paws still resting on the railing, gave a

sort of lamentable bark, which would have an unfavorable effect upon

men somewhat given to superstition.

That bark even made Mrs. Weldon shudder.

"Dingo," said she, "Dingo, is that the way you encourage your friends?

Come, now, a fine bark, very clear, very sonorous, very joyful."

But the dog barked no more, and, letting itself fall back on its paws,

it came slowly to Mrs. Weldon, whose hand it licked affectionately.

"It does not wag its tail," murmured Tom in a low tone. "Bad sign--bad

sign."

But almost at once Dingo stood up, and a howl of anger escaped it.

Mrs. Weldon turned round.

Negoro had just left his quarters, and was going toward the forecastle,

with the intention, no doubt, of looking for himself at the movements

of the whale-boat.

Dingo rushed at the head cook, a prey to the strongest as well as to

the most inexplicable fury.

Negoro seized a hand-spike and took an attitude of defense.

The dog was going to spring at his throat.

"Here, Dingo, here!" cried Dick Sand, who, leaving his post of

observation for an instant, ran to the prow of the ship.

Mrs. Weldon on her side, sought to calm the dog.

Dingo obeyed, not without repugnance, and returned to the young novice,

growling secretly.

Negoro had not pronounced a single word, but his face had grown pale

for a moment. Letting go of his hand-spike, he regained his cabin.

"Hercules," then said Dick Sand, "I charge you especially to watch over

that man."

"I shall watch," simply replied Hercules, clenching his two enormous

fists in sign of assent.

Mrs. Weldon and Dick Sand then turned their eyes again on the

whale-boat, which the four oarsmen bore rapidly away.

It was nothing but a speck on the sea.

*       *       *       *       *

CHAPTER VIII - THE JUBARTE.

Captain Hull, an experienced whaler, would leave nothing to chance. The

capture of a jubarte is a difficult thing. No precaution ought to be

neglected. None was in this case.

And, first of all, Captain Hull sailed so as to come up to the whale on

the leeward, so that no noise might disclose the boat's approach.

Howik then steered the whale-boat, following the rather elongated curve

of that reddish shoal, in the midst of which floated the jubarte. They

would thus turn the curve.

The boatswain, set over this work, was a seaman of great coolness, who

inspired Captain Hull with every confidence. He had not to fear either

hesitation or distraction from Howik.

"Attention to the steering, Howik," said Captain Hull. "We are going to

try to surprise the jubarte. We will only show ourselves when we are

near enough to harpoon it."

"That is understood, sir," replied the boatswain.

"I am going to follow the contour of these reddish waters, so as to

keep to the leeward."

"Good!" said Captain Hull. "Boys, as little noise as possible in

rowing."

The oars, carefully muffled with straw, worked silently. The boat,

skilfully steered by the boatswain, had reached the large shoal of

crustaceans. The starboard oars still sank in the green and limpid

water, while those to larboard, raising the reddish liquid, seemed to

rain drops of blood.

"Wine and water!" said one of the sailors.

"Yes," replied Captain Hull, "but water that we cannot drink, and wine

that we cannot swallow. Come, boys, let us not speak any more, and

heave closer!"

The whale-boat, steered by the boatswain, glided noiselessly on the

surface of those half-greased waters, as if it were floating on a bed

of oil.

The jubarte did not budge, and did not seem to have yet perceived the

boat, which described a circle around it.

Captain Hull, in making the circuit, necessarily went farther than the

"Pilgrim," which gradually grew smaller in the distance. This rapidity

with which objects diminish at sea has always an odd effect. It seems

as if we look at them shortened through the large end of a telescope.

This optical illusion evidently takes place because there are no points

of comparison on these large spaces. It was thus with the "Pilgrim,"

which decreased to the eye and seemed already much more distant than

she really was.

Half an hour after leaving her, Captain Hull and his companions found

themselves exactly to the leeward of the whale, so that the latter

occupied an intermediate point between the ship and the boat.

So the moment had come to approach, while making as little noise as

possible. It was not impossible for them to get beside the animal and

harpoon it at good range, before its attention would be attracted.

"Row more slowly, boys," said Captain Hull, in a low voice.

"It seems to me," replied Howik, "that the gudgeon suspects something.

It breathes less violently than it did just now!"

"Silence! silence!" repeated Captain Hull.

Five minutes later the whale-boat was at a cable's length from the

jubarte. A cable's length, a measure peculiar to the sea, comprises a

length of one hundred and twenty fathoms, that is to say, two hundred

meters.

The boatswain, standing aft, steered in such a manner as to approach

the left side of the mammal, but avoiding, with the greatest care,

passing within reach of the formidable tail, a single blow of which

would be enough to crush the boat.

At the prow Captain Hull, his legs a little apart to maintain his

equilibrium, held the weapon with which he was going to give the first

blow. They could count on his skill to fix that harpoon in the thick

mass which emerged from the waters.

Near the captain, in a pail, was coiled the first of the five lines,

firmly fastened to the harpoon, and to which they would successively

join the other four if the whale plunged to great depths.

"Are we ready, boys?" murmured Captain Hull.

"Yes," replied Howik, grasping his oar firmly in his large hands.

"Alongside! alongside!"

The boatswain obeyed the order, and the whale-boat came within less

than ten feet of the animal.

The latter no longer moved, and seemed asleep.

Whales thus surprised while asleep offer an easier prize, and it often

happens that the first blow which is given wounds them mortally.

"This immovableness is quite astonishing!" thought Captain Hull. "The

rascal ought not to be asleep, and nevertheless----there is something

there!"

The boatswain thought the same, and he tried to see the opposite side

of the animal.

But it was not the moment to reflect, but to attack.

Captain Hull, holding his harpoon by the middle of the handle, balanced

it several times, to make sure of good aim, while he examined the

jubarte's side. Then he threw it with all the strength of his arm.

"Back, back!" cried he at once.

And the sailors, pulling together, made the boat recoil rapidly, with

the intention of prudently putting it in safety from the blows of the

cetacean's tail.

But at that moment a cry from the boatswain made them understand why

the whale was so extraordinarily motionless for so long a time on the

surface of the sea.

"A young whale!" said he.

In fact, the jubarte, after having been struck by the harpoon, was

almost entirely overturned on the side, thus discovering a young whale,

which she was in process of suckling.

This circumstance, as Captain Hull well knew, would render the capture

of the jubarte much more difficult. The mother was evidently going to

defend herself with greater fury, as much for herself as to protect her

"little one "--if, indeed, we can apply that epithet to an animal which

did not measure less than twenty feet.

Meanwhile, the jubarte did not rush at the boat, as there was reason to

fear, and there was no necessity, before taking flight, to quickly cut

the line which connected the boat with the harpoon. On the contrary,

and as generally happens, the whale, followed by the young one, dived,

at first in a very oblique line; then rising again with an immense

bound, she commenced to cleave the waters with extreme rapidity.

But before she had made her first plunge, Captain Hull and the

boatswain, both standing, had had time to see her, and consequently to

estimate her at her true value.

This jubarte was, in reality, a whale of the largest size. From the

head to the tail, she measured at least eighty feet. Her skin, of a

yellowish brown, was much varied with numerous spots of a darker brown.

It would indeed be a pity, after an attack so happily begun, to be

under the necessity of abandoning so rich a prey.

The pursuit, or rather the towing, had commenced. The whale-boat, whose

oars had been raised, darted like an arrow while swinging on the tops

of the waves.

Howik kept it steady, notwithstanding those rapid and frightful

oscillations. Captain Hull, his eye on his prey, did not cease making

his eternal refrain:

"Be watchful, Howik, be watchful!"

And they could be sure that the boatswain's vigilance would not be at

fault for an instant.

Meanwhile, as the whale-boat did not fly nearly as fast as the whale,

the line of the harpoon spun out with such rapidity that it was to be

feared that it would take fire in rubbing against the edge of the

whale-boat. So Captain Hull took care to keep it damp, by filling with

water the pail at the bottom of which the line was coiled.

All this time the jubarte did not seem inclined to stop her flight, nor

willing to moderate it. The second line was then lashed to the end of

the first, and it was not long before it was played out with the same

velocity.

At the end of five minutes it was necessary to join on the third line,

which ran off under the water.

The jubarte did not stop. The harpoon had evidently not penetrated into

any vital part of the body. They could even observe, by the increased

obliquity of the line, that the animal, instead of returning to the

surface, was sinking into lower depths.

"The devil!" cried Captain Hull, "but that rascal will use up our five

lines!"

"And lead us to a good distance from the 'Pilgrim,'" replied the

boatswain.

"Nevertheless, she must return to the surface to breathe," replied

Captain Hull. "She is not a fish, and she must have the provision of

air like a common individual."

"She has held her breath to run better," said one of the sailors,

laughing.

In fact, the line was unrolling all the time with equal rapidity.

To the third line, it was soon necessary to join the fourth, and that

was not done without making the sailors somewhat anxious touching their

future part of the prize.

"The devil! the devil!" murmured Captain Hull. "I have never seen

anything like that! Devilish jubarte!"

Finally the fifth line had to be let out, and it was already half

unrolled when it seemed to slacken.

"Good! good!" cried Captain Hull. "The line is less stiff. The jubarte

is getting tired."

At that moment, the "Pilgrim" was more than five miles to the leeward

of the whale-boat. Captain Hull, hoisting a flag at the end of a

boat-hook, gave the signal to come nearer.

And almost at once, he could see that Dick Sand, aided by Tom and his

companions, commenced to brace the yards in such a manner as to trim

them close to the wind.

But the breeze was feeble and irregular. It only came in short puffs.

Most certainly, the "Pilgrim" would have some trouble in joining the

whale-boat, if indeed she could reach it. Meanwhile, as they had

foreseen, the jubarte had returned to the surface of the water to

breathe, with the harpoon fixed in her side all the time. She then

remained almost motionless, seeming to wait for her young whale, which

this furious course must have left behind.

Captain Hull made use of the oars so as to join her again, and soon he

was only a short distance from her.

Two oars were laid down and two sailors armed themselves, as the

captain had done, with long lances, intended to strike the enemy.

Howik worked skilfully then, and held himself ready to make the boat

turn rapidly, in case the whale should turn suddenly on it.

"Attention!" cried Captain Hull. "Do not lose a blow! Aim well, boys!

Are we ready, Howik?"

"I am prepared, sir," replied the boatswain, "but one thing troubles

me. It is that the beast, after having fled so rapidly, is very quiet

now."

"In fact, Howik, that seems to me suspicious. Let us be careful!"

"Yes, but let us go forward."

Captain Hull grew more and more animated.

The boat drew still nearer. The jubarte only turned in her place. Her

young one was no longer near her; perhaps she was trying to find it

again.

Suddenly she made a movement with her tail, which took her thirty feet

away.

Was she then going to take flight again, and must they take up this

interminable pursuit again on the surface of the waters?

"Attention!" cried Captain Hull. "The beast is going to take a spring

and throw herself on us. Steer, Howik, steer!"

The jubarte, in fact, had turned in such a manner as to present herself

in front of the whale-boat. Then, beating the sea violently with her

enormous fins, she rushed forward.

The boatswain, who expected this direct blow, turned in such a fashion

that the jubarte passed by the boat, but without reaching it.

Captain Hull and the two sailors gave her three vigorous thrusts on the

passage, seeking to strike some vital organ.

The jubarte stopped, and, throwing to a great height two columns of

water mingled with blood, she turned anew on the boat, bounding, so to

say, in a manner frightful to witness.

These seamen must have been expert fishermen, not to lose their

presence of mind on this occasion.

Howik again skilfully avoided the jubarte's attack, by darting the boat

aside.

Three new blows, well aimed, again gave the animal three new wounds.

But, in passing, she struck the water so roughly with her formidable

tail, that an enormous wave arose, as if the sea were suddenly opened.

The whale-boat almost capsized, and, the water rushing in over the

side, it was half filled.

"The bucket, the bucket!" cried Captain Hull.

The two sailors, letting go their oars, began to bale out the boat

rapidly, while the captain cut the line, now become useless.

No! the animal, rendered furious by grief, no longer dreamt of flight.

It was her turn to attack, and her agony threatened to be terrible.

A third time she turned round, "head to head," a seaman would say, and

threw herself anew on the boat.

But the whale-boat, half full of water, could no longer move with the

same facility. In this condition, how could it avoid the shock which

threatened it? If it could be no longer steered, there was still less

power to escape.

And besides, no matter how quickly the boat might be propelled, the

swift jubarte would have always overtaken it with a few bounds. It was

no longer a question of attack, but of defense.

Captain Hull understood it all.

The third attack of the animal could not be entirely kept off. In

passing she grazed the whale-boat with her enormous dorsal fin, but

with so much force that Howik was thrown down from his bench.

The three lances, unfortunately affected by the oscillation, this time

missed their aim.

"Howik! Howik!" cried Captain Hull, who himself had been hardly able to

keep his place.

"Present!" replied the boatswain, as he got up. But he then perceived

that in his fall his stern oar had broken in the middle.

"Another oar!" said Captain Hull.

"I have one," replied Howik.

At that moment, a bubbling took place under the waters only a few

fathoms from the boat.

The young whale had just reappeared. The jubarte saw it, and rushed

towards it.

This circumstance could only give a more terrible character to the

contest. The whale was going to fight for two.

Captain Hull looked toward the "Pilgrim." His hand shook the boat-hook,

which bore the flag, frantically.

What could Dick Sand do that had not been already done at the first

signal from the captain? The "Pilgrim's" sails were trimmed, and the

wind commenced to fill them. Unhappily the schooner did not possess a

helix, by which the action could be increased to sail faster.

To lower one of the boats, and, with the aid of the blacks, row to the

assistance of the captain, would be a considerable loss of time;

besides, the novice had orders not to quit the ship, no matter what

happened. However, he had the stern-boat lowered from its pegs, and

towed it along, so that the captain and his companions might take

refuge in it, in case of need.

At that moment the jubarte, covering the young whale with her body, had

returned to the charge. This time she turned in such a manner as to

reach the boat exactly.

"Attention, Howik!" cried Captain Hull, for the last time.

But the boatswain was, so to speak, disarmed. Instead of a lever, whose

length gave force, he only held in his hand an oar relatively short. He

tried to put about; it was impossible.

The sailors knew that they were lost. All rose, giving a terrible cry,

which was perhaps heard on the "Pilgrim."

A terrible blow from the monster's tail had just struck the whale-boat

underneath. The boat, thrown into the air with irresistible violence,

fell back, broken in three pieces, in the midst of waves furiously

lashed by the whale's bounds.

The unfortunate sailors, although grievously wounded, would have had,

perhaps, the strength to keep up still, either by swimming or by

hanging on to some of the floating wreck. That is what Captain Hull

did, for he was seen for a moment hoisting the boatswain on a wreck.

But the jubarte, in the last degree of fury, turned round, sprang up,

perhaps in the last pangs of a terrible agony, and with her tail she

beat the troubled waters frightfully, where the unfortunate sailors

were still swimming.

For some minutes one saw nothing but a liquid water-spout scattering

itself in sheafs on all sides.

A quarter of an hour after, when Dick Sand, who, followed by the

blacks, had rushed into the boat, had reached the scene of the

catastrophe, every living creature had disappeared. There was nothing

left but some pieces of the whale-boat on the surface of the waters,

red with blood.

*       *       *       *       *

CHAPTER IX - CAPTAIN SAND.

The first impression felt by the passengers of the "Pilgrim" in

presence of this terrible catastrophe was a combination of pity and

horror. They only thought of this frightful death of Captain Hull and

the five sailors. This fearful scene had just taken place almost under

their eyes, while they could do nothing to save the poor men. They had

not even been able to arrive in time to pick up the whale-boat's crew,

their unfortunate companions, wounded, but still living, and to oppose

the "Pilgrim's" hull to the jubarte's formidable blows. Captain Hull

and his men had forever disappeared.

When the schooner arrived at the fatal place, Mrs. Weldon fell on her

knees, her hands raised toward Heaven.

"Let us pray!" said the pious woman.

She was joined by her little Jack, who threw himself on his knees,

weeping, near his mother. The poor child understood it all. Dick Sand,

Nan, Tom, and the other blacks remained standing, their heads bowed.

All repeated the prayer that Mrs. Weldon addressed to God, recommending

to His infinite goodness those who had just appeared before Him.

Then Mrs. Weldon, turning to her companions, "And now, my friends,"

said she, "let us ask Heaven for strength and courage for ourselves."

Yes! They could not too earnestly implore the aid of Him who can do all

things, for their situation was one of the gravest!

This ship which carried them had no longer a captain to command her, no

longer a crew to work her. She was in the middle of that immense

Pacific Ocean, hundreds of miles from any land, at the mercy of the

winds and waves.

What fatality then had brought that whale in the "Pilgrim's" course?

What still greater fatality had urged the unfortunate Captain Hull,

generally so wise, to risk everything in order to complete his cargo?

And what a catastrophe to count among the rarest of the annals of

whale-fishing was this one, which did not allow of the saving of one of

the whale-boat's sailors!

Yes, it was a terrible fatality! In fact, there was no longer a seaman

on board the "Pilgrim." Yes, one--Dick Sand--and he was only a

beginner, a young man of fifteen. Captain, boatswain, sailors, it may

be said that the whole crew was now concentrated in him.

On board there was one lady passenger, a mother and her son, whose

presence would render the situation much more difficult. Then there

were also some blacks, honest men, courageous and zealous without a

doubt, ready to obey whoever should undertake to command them, but

ignorant of the simplest notions of the sailor's craft.

Dick Sand stood motionless, his arms crossed, looking at the place

where Captain Hull had just been swallowed up--Captain Hull, his

protector, for whom he felt a filial affection. Then his eyes searched

the horizon, seeking to discover some ship, from which he would demand

aid and assistance, to which he might be able at least to confide Mrs.

Weldon. He would not abandon the "Pilgrim," no, indeed, without having

tried his best to bring her into port. But Mrs. Weldon and her little

boy would be in safety. He would have had nothing more to fear for

those two beings, to whom he was devoted body and soul.

The ocean was deserted. Since the disappearance of the jubarte, not a

speck came to alter the surface. All was sky and water around the

"Pilgrim." The young novice knew only too well that he was beyond the

routes followed by the ships of commerce, and that the other whalers

were cruising still farther away at the fishing-grounds.

However, the question was, to look the situation in the face, to see

things as they were. That is what Dick Sand did, asking God, from the

depths of his heart, for aid and succor. What resolution was he going

to take?

At that moment Negoro appeared on the deck, which he had left after the

catastrophe. What had been felt in the presence of this irreparable

misfortune by a being so enigmatical, no one could tell. He had

contemplated the disaster without making a gesture, without departing

from his speechlessness. His eye had evidently seized all the details

of it. But if at such a moment one could think of observing him, he

would be astonished at least, because not a muscle of his impassible

face had moved. At any rate, and as if he had not heard it, he had not

responded to the pious appeal of Mrs. Weldon, praying for the engulfed

crew. Negoro walked aft, there even where Dick Sand was standing

motionless. He stopped three steps from the novice.

"You wish to speak to me?" asked Dick Sand.

"I wish to speak to Captain Hull," replied Negoro, coolly, "or, in his

absence, to boatswain Howik."

"You know well that both have perished!" cried the novice.

"Then who commands on board now?" asked Negoro, very insolently.

"I," replied Dick Sand, without hesitation.

"You!" said Negoro, shrugging his shoulders. "A captain of fifteen

years?"

"A captain of fifteen years!" replied the novice, advancing toward the

cook.

The latter drew back.

"Do not forget it," then said Mrs. Weldon. "There is but one captain

here--Captain Sand, and it is well for all to remember that he will

know how to make himself obeyed."

Negoro bowed, murmuring in an ironical tone a few words that they could

not understand, and he returned to his post.

We see, Dick's resolution was taken.

Meanwhile the schooner, under the action of the breeze, which commenced

to freshen, had already passed beyond the vast shoal of crustaceans.

Dick Sand examined the condition of the sails; then his eyes were cast

on the deck. He had then this sentiment, that, if a frightful

responsibility fell upon him in the future, it was for him to have the

strength to accept it. He dared to look at the survivors of the

"Pilgrim," whose eyes were now fixed on him. And, reading in their

faces that he could count on them, he said to them in two words, that

they could in their turn count on him.

Dick Sand had, in all sincerity, examined his conscience.

If he was capable of taking in or setting the sails of the schooner,

according to circumstances, by employing the arms of Tom and his

companions, he evidently did not yet possess all the knowledge

necessary to determine his position by calculation.

In four or five years more, Dick Sand would know thoroughly that

beautiful and difficult sailor's craft. He would know how to use the

sextant--that instrument which Captain Hull's hand had held every day,

and which gave him the height of the stars. He would read on the

chronometer the hour of the meridian of Greenwich, and from it would be

able to deduce the longitude by the hour angle. The sun would be made

his counselor each day. The moon--the planets would say to him, "There,

on that point of the ocean, is thy ship!" That firmament, on which the

stars move like the hands of a perfect clock, which nothing shakes nor

can derange, and whose accuracy is absolute--that firmament would tell

him the hours and the distances. By astronomical observations he would

know, as his captain had known every day, nearly to a mile, the place

occupied by the "Pilgrim," and the course followed as well as the

course to follow.

And now, by reckoning, that is by the progress measured on the log,

pointed out by the compass, and corrected by the drift, he must alone

ask his way.

However, he did not falter.

Mrs. Weldon understood all that was passing in the young novice's

resolute heart.

"Thank you, Dick," she said to him, in a voice which did not tremble.

"Captain Hull is no more. All his crew have perished with him. The fate

of the ship is in your hands! Dick, you will save the ship and those on

board!"

"Yes, Mrs. Weldon," replied Dick Sand, "yes! I shall attempt it, with

the aid of God!"

"Tom and his companions are honest men on whom you can depend entirely."

"I know it, and I shall make sailors of them, and we shall work

together. With fine weather that will be easy. With bad weather--well,

with bad weather, we shall strive, and we shall save you yet, Mrs.

Weldon--you and your little Jack, both! Yes, I feel that I shall do it."

And he repeated:

"With the aid of God!"

"Now, Dick, can you tell where the 'Pilgrim' is?" asked Mrs. Weldon.

"Easily," replied the novice. "I have only to consult the chart on

board, on which her position was marked yesterday by Captain Hull."

"And will you be able to put the ship in the right direction?"

"Yes, I shall be able to put her prow to the east, nearly at the point

of the American coast that we must reach."

"But, Dick," returned Mrs. Weldon, "you well understand, do you not,

that this catastrophe may, and indeed must, modify our first projects?

It is no longer a question of taking the 'Pilgrim' to Valparaiso. The

nearest port of the American coast is now her port of destination."

"Certainly, Mrs. Weldon," replied the novice. "So fear nothing! We

cannot fail to reach that American coast which stretches so far to the

south."

"Where is it situated?" asked Mrs. Weldon.

"There, in that direction," replied Dick Sand, pointing to the east,

which he knew by means of the compass.

"Well, Dick, we may reach Valparaiso, or any other part of the coast.

What matter? What we want is to land."

"And we shall do it, Mrs. Weldon, and I shall land you on a good

place," replied the young man, in a firm voice. "Besides, in standing

in for the land, I do not renounce the hope of encountering some of

those vessels which do the coasting trade on that shore. Ah! Mrs.

Weldon, the wind begins to blow steadily from the northwest! God grant

that it may keep on; we shall make progress, and good progress. We

shall drive in the offing with all our sails set, from the brigantine

to the flying-jib!"

Dick Sand had spoken with the confidence of the seaman, who feels that

he stands on a good ship, a ship of whose every movement he is master.

He was going to take the helm and call his companions to set the sails

properly, when Mrs. Weldon reminded him that he ought first to know the

"Pilgrim's" position.

It was, indeed, the first thing to do. Dick Sand went into the

captain's cabin for the chart on which the position of the day before

was indicated. He could then show Mrs. Weldon that the schooner was in

latitude 43° 35', and in longitude 164° 13', for, in the last

twenty-four hours, she had not, so to say, made any progress.

Mrs. Weldon leaned over this chart. She looked at the brown color which

represented the land on the right of the ocean. It was the coast of

South America, an immense barrier thrown between the Pacific and the

Atlantic from Cape Horn to the shores of Columbia. To consider it in

that way, that chart, which, was then spread out under her eyes, on

which was drawn a whole ocean, gave the impression that it would be

easy to restore the "Pilgrim's" passengers to their country. It is an

illusion which is invariably produced on one who is not familiar with

the scale on which marine charts are drawn. And, in fact, it seemed to

Mrs. Weldon that the land ought to be in sight, as it was on that piece

of paper!

And, meanwhile, on that white page, the "Pilgrim" drawn on an exact

scale, would be smaller than the most microscopic of infusoria! That

mathematical point, without appreciable dimensions, would appear lost,

as it was in reality in the immensity of the Pacific!

Dick Sand himself had not experienced the same impression as Mrs.

Weldon. He knew how far off the land was, and that many hundreds of

miles would not suffice to measure the distance from it. But he had

taken his part; he had become a man under the responsibility which had

fallen upon him.

The moment to act had come. He must profit by this northwest breeze

which was blowing up. Contrary winds had given place to favorable

winds, and some clouds scattered in the zenith under the cirrous form,

indicated that they would blow steadily for at least a certain time.

Dick called Tom and his companions.

"My friends," he said to them, "our ship has no longer any crew but

you. I cannot work without your aid. You are not sailors, but you have

good arms. Place them, then, at the 'Pilgrim's' service and we can

steer her. Every one's salvation depends on the good work of every one

on board."

"Mr. Dick," replied Tom, "my companions and I, we are your sailors. Our

good will shall not be wanting. All that men can do, commanded by you,

we shall do it."

"Well spoken, old Tom," said Mrs. Weldon.

"Yes, well spoken," continued Dick Sand; "but we must be prudent, and I

shall not carry too much canvas, so as not to run any risk.

Circumstances require a little less speed, but more security. I will

show you, my friends, what each will have to do in the work. As to me,

I shall remain at the helm, as long as fatigue does not oblige me to

leave it. From time to time a few hours' sleep will be sufficient to

restore me. But, during those few hours, it will be very necessary for

one of you to take my place. Tom, I shall show you how we steer by

means of the mariner's compass. It is not difficult, and, with a little

attention, you will soon learn to keep the ship's head in the right

direction."

"Whenever you like, Mr. Dick," replied the old black.

"Well," replied the novice, "stay near me at the helm till the end of

the day, and if fatigue overcomes me, you will then be able to replace

me for a few hours."

"And I," said little Jack, "will I not be able to help my friend, Dick,

a little?"

"Yes, dear child," replied Mrs. Weldon, clasping Jack in her arms, "you

shall learn to steer, and I am sure that while you are at the helm we

shall have good winds."

"Very sure--very sure. Mother, I promise it to you," replied the little

boy, clapping his hands.

"Yes," said the young novice, smiling, "good cabin-boys know how to

maintain good winds. That is well known by old sailors." Then,

addressing Tom, and the other blacks: "My friends," he said to them,

"we are going to put the 'Pilgrim' under full sail. You will only have

to do what I shall tell you."

"At your orders," replied Tom, "at your orders, Captain Sand."

*       *       *       *       *

CHAPTER X - THE FOUR DAYS WHICH FOLLOW.

Dick Sand was then captain of the "Pilgrim," and, without losing an

instant, he took the necessary measures for putting the ship under full

sail.

It was well understood that the passengers could have only one

hope--that of reaching some part of the American coast, if not

Valparaiso. What Dick Sand counted on doing was to ascertain the

direction and speed of the "Pilgrim," so as to get an average. For

that, it was sufficient to make each day on the chart the way made, as

it has been said, by the log and the compass. There was then on board

one of those "patent logs," with an index and helix, which give the

speed very exactly for a fixed time. This useful instrument, very

easily handled, could render the most useful services, and the blacks

were perfectly adapted to work it.

A single cause of error would interfere--the currents. To combat it,

reckoning would be insufficient; astronomical observations alone would

enable one to render an exact calculation from it. Now, those

observations the young novice was still unable to make.

For an instant Dick Sand had thought of bringing the "Pilgrim" back to

New Zealand. The passage would be shorter, and he would certainly have

done it if the wind, which, till then, had been contrary, had not

become favorable. Better worth while then to steer for America.

In fact, the wind had changed almost to the contrary direction, and now

it blew from the northwest with a tendency to freshen. It was then

necessary to profit by it and make all the headway possible.

So Dick Sand prepared to put the "Pilgrim" under full sail.

In a schooner brig-rigged, the foremast carries four square sails; the

foresail, on the lower mast; above, the top-sail, on the topmast;

then, on the top-gallant mast, a top-sail and a royal.

The mainmast, on the contrary, has fewer sails. It only carries a

brigantine below, and a fore-staffsail above. Between these two masts,

on the stays which support them at the prow, a triple row of triangular

sails may be set.

Finally, at the prow, on the bowsprit, and its extreme end, were hauled

the three jibs.

The jibs, the brigantine, the fore-staff, and the stay-sails are easily

managed. They can be hoisted from the deck without the necessity of

climbing the masts, because they are not fastened on the yards by means

of rope-bands, which must be previously loosened.

On the contrary, the working of the foremast sails demands much greater

proficiency in seamanship. In fact, when it is necessary to set them,

the sailors must climb by the rigging--it may be in the foretop, it

may be on the spars of the top-gallant mast, it may be to the top of

the said mast--and that, as well in letting them fly as in drawing them

in to diminish their surface in reefing them. Thence the necessity of

running out on foot-ropes--movable ropes stretched below the yards--of

working with one hand while holding on by the other--perilous work for

any one who is not used to it. The oscillation from the rolling and

pitching of the ship, very much increased by the length of the lever,

the flapping of the sails under a stiff breeze, have often sent a man

overboard. It was then a truly dangerous operation for Tom and his

companions.

Very fortunately, the wind was moderate. The sea had not yet had time

to become rough. The rolling and pitching kept within bounds.

When Dick Sand, at Captain Hull's signal, had steered toward the scene

of the catastrophe, the "Pilgrim" only carried her jibs, her

brigantine, her foresail, and her top-sail. To get the ship under way

as quickly as possible, the novice had only to make use of, that is, to

counter-brace, the foresail. The blacks had easily helped him in that

maneuver.

The question now was to get under full sail, and, to complete the

sails, to hoist the top-sails, the royal, the fore-staff, and the

stay-sails.

"My friends," said the novice to the five blacks, "do as I tell you,

and all will go right."

Dick Sand was standing at the wheel of the helm.

"Go!" cried he. "Tom, let go that rope quickly!"

"Let go?" said Tom, who did not understand that expression.

"Yes, loosen it! Now you, Bat--the same thing! Good! Heave--haul taut.

Let us see, pull it in!"

"Like that?" said Bat.

"Yes, like that. Very good. Come, Hercules--strong. A good pull there!"

To say "strong" to Hercules was, perhaps, imprudent. The giant of

course gave a pull that brought down the rope.

"Oh! not so strong, my honest fellow!" cried Dick Sand, smiling. "You

are going to bring down the masts!"

"I have hardly pulled," replied Hercules.

"Well, only make believe! You will see that that will be enough! Well,

slacken--cast off! Make fast--Make fast--like that! Good! All together!

Heave--pull on the braces."

And the whole breadth of the foremast, whose larboard braces had been

loosened, turned slowly. The wind then swelling the sails imparted a

certain speed to the ship.

Dick Sand then had the jib sheet-ropes loosened. Then he called the

blacks aft:

"Behold what is done, my friends, and well done. Now let us attend to

the mainmast. But break nothing, Hercules."

"I shall try," replied the colossus, without being willing to promise

more.

This second operation was quite easy. The main-boom sheet-rope having

been let go gently, the brigantine took the wind more regularly, and

added its powerful action to that of the forward sails.

The fore-staff was then set above the brigantine, and, as it is simply

brailed up, there was nothing to do but bear on the rope, to haul

aboard, then to secure it. But Hercules pulled so hard, along with his

friend Acteon, without counting little Jack, who had joined them, that

the rope broke off.

All three fell backwards--happily, without hurting themselves. Jack was

enchanted.

"That's nothing! that's nothing!" cried the novice. "Fasten the two

ends together for this time and hoist softly!"

That was done under Dick Sand's eyes, while he had not yet left the

helm. The "Pilgrim" was already sailing rapidly, headed to the east,

and there was nothing more to be done but keep it in that direction.

Nothing easier, because the wind was favorable, and lurches were not to

be feared.

"Good, my friends!" said the novice. "You will be good sailors before

the end of the voyage!"

"We shall do our best, Captain Sand," replied Tom.

Mrs. Weldon also complimented those honest men.

Little Jack himself received his share of praise, for he had worked

bravely.

"Indeed, I believe, Mr. Jack," said Hercules, smiling, "that it was you

who broke the rope. What a good little fist you have. Without you we

should have done nothing right."

And little Jack, very proud of himself, shook his friend Hercules' hand

vigorously.

The setting of the "Pilgrim's" sails was not yet complete. She still

lacked those top-sails whose action is not to be despised under this

full-sail movement. Top-sail, royal, stay-sails, would add sensibly to

the schooner's speed, and Dick Sand resolved to set them.

This operation would be more difficult than the others, not for the

stay-sails, which could be hoisted, hauled aboard and fastened from

below, but for the cross-jacks of the foremast. It was necessary to

climb to the spars to let them out, and Dick Sand, not wishing to

expose any one of his improvised crew, undertook to do it himself.

He then called Tom and put him at the wheel, showing him how he should

keep the ship. Then Hercules, Bat, Acteon and Austin being placed, some

at the royal halyards, others at those of the top-sails, he proceeded

up the mast. To climb the rattlings of the fore-shrouds, then the

rattlings of the topmast-shrouds, to gain the spars, that was only play

for the young novice. In a minute he was on the foot-rope of the

top-sail yard, and he let go the rope-bands which kept the sail bound.

Then he stood on the spars again and climbed on the royal yard, where

he let out the sail rapidly.

Dick Sand had finished his task, and seizing one of the starboard

backstays, he slid to the deck.

There, under his directions, the two sails were vigorously hauled and

fastened, then the two yards hoisted to the block. The stay-sails being

set next between the mainmast and the foremast, the work was finished.

Hercules had broken nothing this time.

The "Pilgrim" then carried all the sails that composed her rigging.

Doubtless Dick Sand could still add the foremast studding-sails to

larboard, but it was difficult work under the present circumstances,

and should it be necessary to take them in, in case of a squall, it

could not be done fast enough. So the novice stopped there.

Tom was relieved from his post at the wheel, which Dick Sand took

charge of again.

The breeze freshened. The "Pilgrim," making a slight turn to starboard,

glided rapidly over the surface of the sea, leaving behind her a very

flat track, which bore witness to the purity of her water-line.

"We are well under way, Mrs. Weldon," then said Dick Sand, "and, now,

may God preserve this favorable wind!"

Mrs. Weldon pressed the young man's hand. Then, fatigued with all the

emotions of that last hour, she sought her cabin, and fell into a sort

of painful drowsiness, which was not sleep.

The new crew remained on the schooner's deck, watching on the

forecastle, and ready to obey Dick Sand's orders--that is to say, to

change the set of the sails according to the variations of the wind;

but so long as the breeze kept both that force and that direction,

there would be positively nothing to do.

During all this time what had become of Cousin Benedict?

Cousin Benedict was occupied in studying with a magnifying glass an

articulate which he had at last found on board--a simple orthopter,

whose head disappeared under the prothorax; an insect with flat

elytrums, with round abdomen, with rather long wings, which belonged to

the family of the roaches, and to the species of American cockroaches.

It was exactly while ferreting in Negoro's kitchen, that he had made

that precious discovery, and at the moment when the cook was going to

crush the said insect pitilessly. Thence anger, which, indeed, Negoro

took no notice of.

But this Cousin Benedict, did he know what change had taken place on

board since the moment when Captain Hull and his companions had

commenced that fatal whale-fishing? Yes, certainly. He was even on the

deck when the "Pilgrim" arrived in sight of the remains of the

whale-boat. The schooner's crew had then perished before his eyes.

To pretend that this catastrophe had not affected him, would be to

accuse his heart. That pity for others that all people feel, he had

certainly experienced it. He was equally moved by his cousin's

situation. He had come to press Mrs. Weldon's hand, as if to say to

her: "Do not be afraid. I am here. I am left to you."

Then Cousin Benedict had turned toward his cabin, doubtless so as to

reflect on the consequences of this disastrous event, and on the

energetic measures that he must take. But on his way he had met the

cockroach in question, and his desire was--held, however, against

certain entomologists--to prove the cockroaches of the phoraspe

species, remarkable for their colors, have very different habits from

cockroaches properly so called; he had given himself up to the study,

forgetting both that there had been a Captain Hull in command of the

"Pilgrim," and that that unfortunate had just perished with his crew.

The cockroach absorbed him entirely. He did not admire it less, and he

made as much time over it as if that horrible insect had been a golden

beetle.

The life on board had then returned to its usual course, though every

one would remain for a long time yet under the effects of such a keen

and unforeseen catastrophe.

During this day Dick Sand was everywhere, so that everything should be

in its place, and that he could be prepared for the smallest

contingency. The blacks obeyed him with zeal. The most perfect order

reigned on board the "Pilgrim." It might then be hoped that all would

go well.

On his side, Negoro made no other attempt to resist Dick Sand's

authority. He appeared to have tacitly recognized him. Occupied as

usual in his narrow kitchen, he was not seen more than before. Besides,

at the least infraction--at the first symptom of insubordination, Dick

Sand was determined to send him to the hold for the rest of the

passage. At a sign from him, Hercules would take the head cook by the

skin of the neck; that would not have taken long. In that case, Nan,

who knew how to cook, would replace the cook in his functions. Negoro

then could say to himself that he was indispensable, and, as he was

closely watched, he seemed unwilling to give any cause of complaint.

The wind, though growing stronger till evening, did not necessitate any

change in the "Pilgrim's" sails. Her solid masting, her iron rigging,

which was in good condition, would enable her to bear in this condition

even a stronger breeze.

During the night it is often the custom to lessen the sails, and

particularly to take in the high sails, fore-staff, top-sail, royal,

etc. That is prudent, in case some squall of wind should come up

suddenly. But Dick Sand believed he could dispense with this

precaution. The state of the atmosphere indicated nothing of the kind,

and besides, the young novice determined to pass the first night on the

deck, intending to have an eye to everything. Then the progress was

more rapid, and he longed to be in less desolate parts.

It has been said that the log and the compass were the only instruments

which Dick Sand could use, so as to estimate approximately the way made

by the "Pilgrim."

During this day the novice threw the log every half-hour, and he noted

the indications furnished by the instrument.

As to the instrument which bears the name of compass, there were two on

board. One was placed in the binnacle, under the eyes of the man at the

helm. Its dial, lighted by day by the diurnal light, by night by two

side-lamps, indicated at every moment which way the ship headed--that

is, the direction she followed. The other compass was an inverted one,

fixed to the bars of the cabin which Captain Hull formerly occupied. By

that means, without leaving his chamber, he could always know if the

route given was exactly followed, if the man at the helm, from

ignorance or negligence, allowed the ship to make too great lurches.

Besides, there is no ship employed in long voyages which does not

possess at least two compasses, as she has two chronometers. It is

necessary to compare these instruments with each other, and,

consequently, control their indications.

The "Pilgrim" was then sufficiently provided for in that respect, and

Dick Sand charged his men to take the greatest care of the two

compasses, which were so necessary to him.

Now, unfortunately, during the night of the 12th to the 13th of

February, while the novice was on watch, and holding the wheel of the

helm, a sad accident took place. The inverted compass, which was

fastened by a copper ferule to the woodwork of the cabin, broke off and

fell on the floor. It was not seen till the next day.

How had the ferule come to break. It was inexplicable enough. It was

possible, however, that it was oxydized, and that the pitching and

rolling had broken it from the woodwork. Now, indeed, the sea had been

rougher during the night. However it was, the compass was broken in

such a manner that it could not be repaired.

Dick Sand was much thwarted. Henceforth he was reduced to trust solely

to the compass in the binnacle. Very evidently no one was responsible

for the breaking of the second compass, but it might have sad

consequences. The novice then took every precaution to keep the other

compass beyond the reach of every accident.

Till then, with that exception, all went well on board the "Pilgrim."

Mrs. Weldon, seeing Dick Sand's calmness, had regained confidence. It

was not that she had ever yielded to despair. Above all, she counted on

the goodness of God. Also, as a sincere and pious Catholic, she

comforted herself by prayer.

Dick Sand had arranged so as to remain at the helm during the night. He

slept five or six hours in the day, and that seemed enough for him, as

he did not feel too much fatigued. During this time Tom or his son Bat

took his place at the wheel of the helm, and, thanks to his counsels,

they were gradually becoming passable steersmen.

Often Mrs. Weldon and the novice talked to each other. Dick Sand

willingly took advice from this intelligent and courageous woman. Each

day he showed her on the ship's chart the course run, which he took by

reckoning, taking into account only the direction and the speed of the

ship. "See, Mrs. Weldon," he often repeated to her, "with these winds

blowing, we cannot fail to reach the coast of South America. I should

not like to affirm it, but I verily believe that when our vessel shall

arrive in sight of land, it will not be far from Valparaiso."

Mrs. Weldon could not doubt the direction of the vessel was right,

favored above all by those winds from the northwest. But how far the

"Pilgrim" still seemed to be from the American coast! How many dangers

between her and the firm land, only counting those which might come

from a change in the state of the sea and the sky!

Jack, indifferent like children of his age, had returned to his usual

games, running on the deck, amusing himself with Dingo. He found, of

course, that his friend Dick was less with him than formerly; but his

mother had made him understand that they must leave the young novice

entirely to his occupations. Little Jack had given up to these reasons,

and no longer disturbed "Captain Sand."

So passed life on board. The blacks did their work intelligently, and

each day became more skilful in the sailor's craft. Tom was naturally

the boatswain, and it was he, indeed, whom his companions would have

chosen for that office. He commanded the watch while the novice rested,

and he had with him his son Bat and Austin. Acteon and Hercules formed

the other watch, under Dick Sand's direction. By this means, while one

steered, the others watched at the prow.

Even though these parts were deserted, and no collision was really to

be feared, the novice exacted a rigorous watch during the night. He

never sailed without having his lights in position--a green light on

the starboard, a red light on the larboard--and in that he acted wisely.

All the time, during those nights which Dick Sand passed entirely at

the helm, he occasionally felt an irresistible heaviness over him. His

hand then steered by pure instinct. It was the effect of a fatigue of

which he did not wish to take account.

Now, it happened that during the night of the 13th to the 14th of

February, that Dick Sand was very tired, and was obliged to take a few

hours' rest. He was replaced at the helm by old Tom.

The sky was covered with thick clouds, which had gathered with the

evening, under the influence of the cold air. It was then very dark,

and it was impossible to distinguish the high sails lost in the

darkness. Hercules and Acteon were on watch on the forecastle.

Aft, the light from the binnacle only gave a faint gleam, which the

metallic apparatus of the wheel reflected softly. The ship's lanterns

throwing their lights laterally, left the deck of the vessel in

profound darkness.

Toward three o'clock in the morning, a kind of hypnotic phenomenon took

place, of which old Tom was not even conscious. His eves, which were

fixed too long on a luminous point of the binnacle, suddenly lost the

power of vision, and he fell into a true anæsthetic sleep.

Not only was he incapable of seeing, but if one had touched or pinched

him hard he would probably have felt nothing.

So he did not see a shadow which glided over the deck.

It was Negoro.

Arrived aft, the head cook placed under the binnacle a pretty heavy

object which he held in hand.

Then, after observing for an instant the luminous index of the compass,

he retired without having been seen.

If, the next day, Dick Sand had perceived that object placed by Negoro

under the binnacle, he might have hastened to take it away.

In fact, it was a piece of iron, whose influence had just altered the

indications of the compass. The magnetic needle had been deviated, and

instead of marking the magnetic north, which differs a little from the

north of the world, it marked the northeast. It was then, a deviation

of four points; in other words, of half a right angle.

Tom soon recovered from his drowsiness. His eyes were fixed on the

compass. He believed, he had reason to believe, that the "Pilgrim" was

not in the right direction. He then moved the helm so as to head the

ship to the east--at least, he thought so.

But, with the deviation of the needle, which he could not suspect, that

point, changed by four points, was the southeast.

And thus, while under the action of a favorable wind, the "Pilgrim" was

supposed to follow the direction wished for, she sailed with an error

of forty-five degrees in her route!

CHAPTER XI - TEMPEST.

During the week which followed that event, from the 14th of February to

the 21st, no incident took place on board. The wind from the northwest

freshened gradually, and the "Pilgrim" sailed rapidly, making on an

average one hundred and sixty miles in twenty-four hours. It was nearly

all that could be asked of a vessel of that size.

Dick Sand thought the schooner must be approaching those parts more

frequented by the merchant vessels which seek to pass from one

hemisphere to the other. The novice was always hoping to encounter one

of those ships, and he clearly intended either to transfer his

passengers, or to borrow some additional sailors, and perhaps an

officer. But, though he watched vigilantly, no ship could be signaled,

and the sea was always deserted.

Dick Sand continued to be somewhat astonished at that. He had crossed

this part of the Pacific several times during his three fishing voyages

to the Southern Seas. Now, in the latitude and longitude where his

reckoning put him, it was seldom that some English or American ship did

not appear, ascending from Cape Horn toward the equator, or coming

toward the extreme point of South America.

But what Dick Sand was ignorant of, what he could not even discover,

was that the "Pilgrim" was already in higher latitude--that is to say,

more to the south than he supposed. That was so for two reasons:

The first was, that the currents of these parts, whose swiftness the

novice could only imperfectly estimate, had contributed--while he could

not possibly keep account of them--to throw the ship out of her route.

The second was, that the compass, made inaccurate by Negoro's guilty

hand, henceforth only gave incorrect bearings--bearings that, since the

loss of the second compass, Dick Sand could not control. So that,

believing, and having reason to believe, that he was sailing eastward,

in reality, he was sailing southeast. The compass, it was always before

his eyes. The log, it was thrown regularly. His two instruments

permitted him, in a certain measure, to direct the "Pilgrim," and to

estimate the number of miles sailed. But, then, was that sufficient?

However, the novice always did his best to reassure Mrs. Weldon, whom

the incidents of this voyage must at times render anxious.

"We shall arrive, we shall arrive!" he repeated. "We shall reach the

American coast, here or there; it matters little, on the whole, but we

cannot fail to land there!"

"I do not doubt it, Dick."

"Of course, Mrs. Weldon, I should be more at ease if you were not on

board--if we had only ourselves to answer for; but----"

"But if I were not on board," replied Mrs. Weldon; "if Cousin Benedict,

Jack, Nan and I, had not taken passage on the 'Pilgrim,' and if, on the

other hand, Tom and his companions had not been picked up at sea, Dick,

there would be only two men here, you and Negoro! What would have

become of you, alone with that wicked man, in whom you cannot have

confidence? Yes, my child, what would have become of you?"

"I should have begun," replied Dick Sand, resolutely, "by putting

Negoro where he could not injure me."

"And you would have worked alone?"

"Yes--alone--with the aid of God!"

The firmness of these words was well calculated to encourage Mrs.

Weldon. But, nevertheless, while thinking of her little Jack, she often

felt uneasy. If the woman would not show what she experienced as a

mother, she did not always succeed in preventing some secret anguish

for him to rend her heart.

Meanwhile, if the young novice was not sufficiently advanced in his

hydrographic studies to make his point, he possessed a true sailor's

scent, when the question was "to tell the weather." The appearance of

the sky, for one thing; on the other hand, the indications of the

barometer, enabled him to be on his guard. Captain Hull, a good

meteorologist, had taught him to consult this instrument, whose

prognostications are remarkably sure.

Here is, in a few words, what the notices relative to the observation

of the barometer contain:

1. When, after a rather long continuance of fine weather, the barometer

begins to fall in a sudden and continuous manner, rain will certainly

fall; but, if the fine weather has had a long duration, the mercury may

fall two or three days in the tube of the barometer before any change

in the state of the atmosphere may be perceived. Then, the longer the

time between the falling of the mercury and the arrival of the rain,

the longer will be the duration of rainy weather.

2. If, on the contrary, during a rainy period which has already had a

long duration, the barometer commences to rise slowly and regularly,

very certainly fine weather will come, and it will last much longer if

a long interval elapses between its arrival and the rising of the

barometer.

3. In the two cases given, if the change of weather follows immediately

the movement of the barometrical column, that change will last only a

very short time.

4. If the barometer rises with slowness and in a continuous manner for

two or three days, or even more, it announces fine weather, even when

the rain will not cease during those three days, and vice versa; but

if the barometer rises two days or more during the rain, then, the fine

weather having come, if it commences to fall again, the fine weather

will last a very short time, and vice versa.

5. In the spring and in the autumn, a sudden fall of the barometer

presages wind. In the summer, if the weather is very warm, it announces

a storm. In winter, after a frost of some duration, a rapid falling of

the barometrical column announces a change of wind, accompanied by a

thaw and rain; but a rising which happens during a frost which has

already lasted a certain time, prognosticates snow.

6. Rapid oscillations of the barometer should never be interpreted as

presaging dry or rainy weather of any duration. Those indications are

given exclusively by the rising or the falling which takes place in a

slow and continuous manner.

7. Toward the end of autumn, if after prolonged rainy and windy

weather, the barometer begins to rise, that rising announces the

passage of the wind to the north and the approach of the frost.

Such are the general consequences to draw from the indications of this

precious instrument.

Dick Sand knew all that perfectly well, as he had ascertained for

himself in different circumstances of his sailor's life, which made him

very skilful in putting himself on his guard against all contingencies.

Now, just toward the 20th of February, the oscillations of the

barometrical column began to preoccupy the young novice, who noted them

several times a day with much care. In fact, the barometer began to

fall in a slow and continuous manner, which presages rain; but, this

rain being delayed, Dick Sand concluded from that, that the bad weather

would last. That is what must happen.

But the rain was the wind, and in fact, at that date, the breeze

freshened so much that the air was displaced with a velocity of sixty

feet a second, say thirty-one miles an hour.

Dick Sand was obliged to take some precautions so as not to risk the

"Pilgrim's" masting and sails.

Already he had the royal, the fore-staff, and the flying-jib taken in,

and he resolved to do the same with the top-sail, then take in two

reefs in the top-sail.

This last operation must present certain difficulties with a crew of

little experience. Hesitation would not do, however, and no one

hesitated. Dick Sand, accompanied by Bat and Austin, climbed into the

rigging of the foremast, and succeeded, not without trouble, in taking

in the top-sail. In less threatening weather he would have left the two

yards on the mast, but, foreseeing that he would probably be obliged to

level that mast, and perhaps even to lay it down upon the deck, he

unrigged the two yards and sent them to the deck. In fact, it is

understood that when the wind becomes too strong, not only must the

sails be diminished, but also the masting. That is a great relief to

the ship, which, carrying less weight above, is no longer so much

strained with the rolling and pitching.

This first work accomplished--and it took two hours--Dick Sand and his

companions were busy reducing the surface of the top-sail, by taking in

two reefs. The "Pilgrim" did not carry, like the majority of modern

ships, a double top-sail, which facilitates the operation. It was

necessary, then, to work as formerly--that is to say, to run out on the

foot-ropes, pull toward you a sail beaten by the wind, and lash it

firmly with its reef-lines. It was difficult, long, perilous; but,

finally, the diminished top-sail gave less surface to the wind, and the

schooner was much relieved.

Dick Sand came down again with Bat and Austin. The "Pilgrim" was then

in the sailing condition demanded by that state of the atmosphere which

has been qualified as "very stiff."

During the three days which followed, 20th, 21st and 22d of February,

the force and direction of the wind were not perceptibly changed. All

the time the mercury continued to fall in the barometrical tube, and,

on this last day, the novice noted that it kept continually below

twenty-eight and seven-tenths inches.

Besides, there was no appearance that the barometer would rise for some

time. The aspect of the sky was bad, and extremely windy. Besides,

thick fogs covered it constantly. Their stratum was even so deep that

the sun was no longer seen, and it would have been difficult to

indicate precisely the place of his setting and rising.

Dick Sand began to be anxious. He no longer left the deck; he hardly

slept. However, his moral energy enabled him to drive back his fears to

the bottom of his heart.

The next day, February 22d, the breeze appeared to decrease a little in

the morning, but Dick Sand did not trust in it. He was right, for in

the afternoon the wind freshened again, and the sea became rougher.

Toward four o'clock, Negoro, who was rarely seen, left his post and

came up on the forecastle. Dingo, doubtless, was sleeping in some

corner, for it did not bark as usual.

Negoro, always silent, remained for half an hour observing the horizon.

Long surges succeeded each other without, as yet, being dashed

together. However, they were higher than the force of the wind

accounted for. One must conclude from that, that there was very bad

weather in the west, perhaps at a rather short distance, and that it

would not be long in reaching these parts.

Negoro watched that vast extent of sea, which was greatly troubled,

around the "Pilgrim." Then his eyes, always cold and dry, turned toward

the sky.

The aspect of the sky was disturbing. The vapors moved with very

different velocities. The clouds of the upper zone traveled more

rapidly than those of the low strata of the atmosphere. The case then

must be foreseen, in which those heavy masses would fall, and might

change into a tempest, perhaps a hurricane, what was yet only a very

stiff breeze--that is to say, a displacement of the air at the rate of

forty-three miles an hour.

Whether Negoro was not a man to be frightened, or whether he understood

nothing of the threats of the weather, he did not appear to be

affected. However, an evil smile glided over his lips. One would say,

at the end of his observations, that this state of things was rather

calculated to please him than to displease him. One moment he mounted

on the bowsprit and crawled as far as the ropes, so as to extend his

range of vision, as if he were seeking some indication on the horizon.

Then he descended again, and tranquilly, without having pronounced a

single word, without having made a gesture, he regained the crew's

quarters.

Meanwhile, in the midst of all these fearful conjunctions, there

remained one happy circumstance which each one on board ought to

remember; it was that this wind, violent as it was or might become, was

favorable, and that the "Pilgrim" seemed to be rapidly making the

American coast. If, indeed, the weather did not turn to tempest, this

navigation would continue to be accomplished without great danger, and

the veritable perils would only spring up when the question would be to

land on some badly ascertained point of the coast.

That was indeed what Dick Sand was already asking himself. When he

should once make the land, how should he act, if he did not encounter

some pilot, some one who knew the coast? In case the bad weather should

oblige him to seek a port of refuge, what should he do, because that

coast was to him absolutely unknown? Indeed, he had not yet to trouble

himself with that contingency. However, when the hour should come, he

would be obliged to adopt some plan. Well, Dick Sand adopted one.

During the thirteen days which elapsed, from the 24th of February to

the 9th of March, the state of the atmosphere did not change in any

perceptible manner. The sky was always loaded with heavy fogs. For a

few hours the wind went down, then it began to blow again with the same

force. Two or three times the barometer rose again, but its

oscillation, comprising a dozen lines, was too sudden to announce a

change of weather and a return of more manageable winds. Besides the

barometrical column fell again almost immediately, and nothing could

inspire any hope of the end of that bad weather within a short period.

Terrible storms burst forth also, which very seriously disturbed Dick

Sand. Two or three times the lightning struck the waves only a few

cable-lengths from the ship. Then the rain fell in torrents, and made

those whirlpools of half condensed vapors, which surrounded the

"Pilgrim" with a thick mist.

For entire hours the man at the lookout saw nothing, and the ship

sailed at random.

Even though the ship, although resting firmly on the waves, was

horribly shaken, Mrs. Weldon, fortunately, supported this rolling and

pitching without being incommoded. But her little boy was very much

tried, and she was obliged to give him all her care.

As to Cousin Benedict, he was no more sick than the American

cockroaches which he made his society, and he passed his time in

studying, as if he were quietly settled in his study in San Francisco.

Very fortunately, also, Tom and his companions found themselves little

sensitive to sea-sickness, and they could continue to come to the young

novice's aid--well accustomed, himself, to all those excessive

movements of a ship which flies before the weather.

The "Pilgrim" ran rapidly under this reduced sail, and already Dick

Sand foresaw that he would be obliged to reduce it again. But he wished

to hold out as long as it would be possible to do so without danger.

According to his reckoning, the coast ought to be no longer distant. So

they watched with care. All the time the novice could hardly trust his

companions' eyes to discover the first indications of land. In fact, no

matter what good sight he may have, he who is not accustomed to

interrogating the sea horizons is not skilful in distinguishing the

first contours of a coast, above all in the middle of fogs. So Dick

Sand must watch himself, and he often climbed as far as the spars to

see better. But no sign yet of the American coast.

This astonished him, and Mrs. Weldon, by some words which escaped him,

understood that astonishment.

It was the 9th of March. The novice kept at the prow, sometimes

observing the sea and the sky, sometimes looking at the "Pilgrim's"

masting, which began to strain under the force of the wind.

"You see nothing yet, Dick?" she asked him, at a moment when he had

just left the long lookout.

"Nothing, Mrs. Weldon, nothing," replied the novice; and meanwhile, the

horizon seems to clear a little under this violent wind, which is going

to blow still harder."

"And, according to you, Dick, the American coast ought not to be

distant now."

"It cannot be, Mrs. Weldon, and if anything astonishes me, it is not

having made it yet."

"Meanwhile," continued Mrs. Weldon, "the ship has always followed the

right course."

"Always, since the wind settled in the northwest," replied Dick Sand;

"that is to say, since the day when we lost our unfortunate captain and

his crew. That was the 10th of February. We are now on the 9th of

March. There have been then, twenty-seven since that."

"But at that period what distance were we from the coast?" asked Mrs.

Weldon.

"About four thousand five hundred miles, Mrs. Weldon. If there are

things about which I have more than a doubt, I can at least guarantee

this figure within about twenty miles."

"And what has been the ship's speed?"

"On an average, a hundred and eighty miles a day since the wind

freshened," replied the novice. "So, I am surprised at not being in

sight of land. And, what is still more extraordinary, is that we do not

meet even a single one of those vessels which generally frequent these

parts!"

"Could you not be deceived, Dick," returned Mrs. Weldon, "in estimating

the 'Pilgrim's' speed?"

"No, Mrs. Weldon. On that point I could not be mistaken. The log has

been thrown every half hour, and I have taken its indications very

accurately. Wait, I am going to have it thrown anew, and you will see

that we are sailing at this moment at the rate of ten miles an hour,

which would give us more than two hundred miles a day."

Dick Sand called Tom, and gave him the order to throw the log, an

operation to which the old black was now quite accustomed.

The log, firmly fastened to the end of the line, was brought and sent

out.

Twenty-five fathoms were hardly unrolled, when the rope suddenly

slackened between Tom's hands.

"Ah! Mr. Dick!" cried he.

"Well, Tom?"

"The rope has broken!"

"Broken!" cried Dick Sand. "And the log is lost!"

Old Tom showed the end of the rope which remained in his hand.

It was only too true. It was not the fastening which had failed. The

rope had broken in the middle. And, nevertheless, that rope was of the

first quality. It must have been, then, that the strands of the rope at

the point of rupture were singularly worn! They were, in fact, and Dick

Sand could tell that when he had the end of the rope in his hands! But

had they become so by use? was what the novice, become suspicious,

asked himself.

However that was, the log was now lost, and Dick Sand had no longer any

means of telling exactly the speed of his ship. In the way of

instruments, he only possessed one compass, and he did not know that

its indications were false.

Mrs. Weldon saw him so saddened by this accident, that she did not wish

to insist, and, with a very heavy heart, she retired into her cabin.

But if the "Pilgrim's" speed and consequently the way sailed over could

no longer be estimated, it was easy to tell that the ship's headway was

not diminishing.

In fact, the next day, March 10th, the barometer fell to twenty-eight

and two-tenths inches. It was the announcement of one of those blasts

of wind which travel as much as sixty miles an hour.

It became urgent to change once more the state of the sails, so as not

to risk the security of the vessel.

Dick Sand resolved to bring down his top-gallant mast and his

fore-staff, and to furl his low sails, so as to sail under his

foretop-mast stay-sail and the low reef of his top-sail.

He called Tom and his companions to help him in that difficult

operation, which, unfortunately, could not be executed with rapidity.

And meanwhile time pressed, for the tempest already declared itself

with violence.

Dick Sands, Austin, Acteon, and Bat climbed into the masting, while Tom

remained at the wheel, and Hercules on the deck, so as to slacken the

ropes, as soon as he was commanded.

After numerous efforts, the fore-staff and the top-gallant mast were

gotten down upon the deck, not without these honest men having a

hundred times risked being precipitated into the sea, the rolling shook

the masting to such an extent. Then, the top-sail having been lessened

and the foresail furled, the schooner carried only her foretop-mast

stay-sail and the low reef of the top-sail.

Even though her sails were then extremely reduced, the "Pilgrim"

continued, none the less, to sail with excessive velocity.

The 12th the weather took a still worse appearance. On that day, at

dawn, Dick Sand saw, not without terror, the barometer fall to

twenty-seven and nine-tenths inches. It was a real tempest which was

raging, and such that the "Pilgrim" could not carry even the little

sail she had left.

Dick Sand, seeing that his top-sail was going to be torn, gave the

order to furl. But it was in vain. A more violent gust struck the ship

at that moment, and tore off the sail. Austin, who was on the yard of

the foretop-sail, was struck by the larboard sheet-rope. Wounded, but

rather slightly, he could climb down again to the deck.

Dick Sand, extremely anxious, had but one thought. It was that the

ship, urged with such fury, was going to be dashed to pieces every

moment; for, according to his calculation, the rocks of the coast could

not be distant. He then returned to the prow, but he saw nothing which

had the appearance of land, and then, came back to the wheel.

A moment after Negoro came on deck. There, suddenly, as if in spite of

himself, his arm was extended toward a point of the horizon. One would

say that he recognized some high land in the fogs!

Still, once more he smiled wickedly, and without saying anything of

what he had been able to see, he returned to his post.

*       *       *       *       *

CHAPTER XII - ON THE HORIZON.

At that date the tempest took its most terrible form, that of the

hurricane. The wind had set in from the southwest. The air moved with a

velocity of ninety miles an hour. It was indeed a hurricane, in fact,

one of those terrible windstorms which wrecks all the ships of a

roadstead, and which, even on land, the most solid structures cannot

resist. Such was the one which, on the 25th of July, 1825, devastated

Guadaloupe. When heavy cannons, carrying balls of twenty-four pounds,

are raised from their carriages, one may imagine what would become of a

ship which has no other point of support than an unsteady sea? And

meanwhile, it is to its mobility alone that she may owe her salvation.

She yields to the wind, and, provided she is strongly built, she is in

a condition to brave the most violent surges. That was the case with

the "Pilgrim."

A few minutes after the top-sail had been torn in pieces, the

foretop-mast stay-sail was in its turn torn off. Dick Sand must then

give up the idea of setting even a storm-jib--a small sail of strong

linen, which would make the ship easier to govern.

The "Pilgrim" then ran without canvas, but the wind took effect on her

hull, her masts, her rigging, and nothing more was needed to impart to

her an excessive velocity. Sometimes even she seemed to emerge from the

waves, and it was to be believed that she hardly grazed them. Under

these circumstances, the rolling of the ship, tossed about on the

enormous billows raised by the tempest, was frightful. There was danger

of receiving some monstrous surge aft. Those mountains of water ran

faster than the schooner, threatening to strike her stern if she did

not rise pretty fast. That is extreme danger for every ship which scuds

before the tempest. But what could be done to ward off that

contingency? Greater speed could not be imparted to the "Pilgrim,"

because she would not have kept the smallest piece of canvas. She must

then be managed as much as possible by means of the helm, whose action

was often powerless.

Dick Sand no longer left the helm. He was lashed by the waist, so as

not to be carried away by some surge. Tom and Bat, fastened also, stood

near to help him. Hercules and Acteon, bound to the bitts, watched

forward. As to Mrs. Weldon, to Little Jack, to Cousin Benedict, to Nan,

they remained, by order of the novice, in the aft cabins. Mrs. Weldon

would have preferred to have remained on deck, but Dick Sand was

strongly opposed to it; it would be exposing herself uselessly.

All the scuttles had been hermetically nailed up. It was hoped that

they would resist if some formidable billow should fall on the ship.

If, by any mischance, they should yield under the weight of these

avalanches, the ship might fill and sink. Very fortunately, also, the

stowage had been well attended to, so that, notwithstanding the

terrible tossing of the vessel, her cargo was not moved about.

Dick Sand had again reduced the number of hours which he gave to sleep.

So Mrs. Weldon began to fear that he would take sick. She made him

consent to take some repose.

Now, it was while he was still lying down, during the night of the 13th

to the 14th of March, that a new incident took place.

Tom and Bat were aft, when Negoro, who rarely appeared on that part of

the deck, drew near, and even seemed to wish to enter into conversation

with them; but Tom and his son did not reply to him.

Suddenly, in a violent rolling of the ship, Negoro fell, and he would,

doubtless, have been thrown into the sea if he had not held on to the

binnacle.

Tom gave a cry, fearing the compass would be broken.

Dick Sand, in a moment of wakefulness, heard that cry, and rushing out

of his quarters, he ran aft.

Negoro had already risen, but he held in his hand the piece of iron

which he had just taken from under the binnacle, and he hid it before

Dick Sand could see it.

Was it, then, Negoro's interest for the magnetic needle to return to

its true direction? Yes, for these southwest winds served him now!

"What's the matter?" asked the novice.

"It's that cook of misfortune, who has just fallen on the compass!"

replied Tom.

At those words Dick Sand, in the greatest anxiety, leaned over the

binnacle. It was in good condition; the compass, lighted by two lamps,

rested as usual on its concentric circles.

The young novice was greatly affected. The breaking of the only compass

on board would be an irreparable misfortune.

But what Dick Sand could not observe was that, since the taking away of

the piece of iron, the needle had returned to its normal position, and

indicated exactly the magnetic north as it ought to be under that

meridian.

Meanwhile, if Negoro could not be made responsible for a fall which

seemed to be involuntary, Dick Sand had reason to be astonished that he

was, at that hour, aft in the ship.

"What are you doing there?" he asked him.

"What I please," replied Negoro.

"You say----" cried Dick Sand, who could not restrain his anger.

"I say," replied the head cook, "that there is no rule which forbids

walking aft."

"Well, I make that the rule," replied Dick Sand, "and I forbid you,

remember, to come aft."

"Indeed!" replied Negoro.

That man, so entirely under self-control, then made a menacing gesture.

The novice drew a revolver from his pocket, and pointed it at the head

cook.

"Negoro," said he, "recollect that I am never without this revolver,

and that on the first act of insubordination I shall blow out your

brains!"

At that moment Negoro felt himself irresistibly bent to the deck.

It was Hercules, who had just simply laid his heavy hand on Negoro's

shoulder.

"Captain Sand," said the giant, "do you want me to throw this rascal

overboard? He will regale the fishes, who are not hard to please!"

"Not yet," replied Dick Sand.

Negoro rose as soon as the black's hand no longer weighed upon him.

But, in passing Hercules:

"Accursed negro," murmured he, "I'll pay you back!"

Meanwhile, the wind had just changed; at least, it seemed to have

veered round forty-five degrees. And, notwithstanding, a singular

thing, which struck the novice, nothing in the condition of the sea

indicated that change. The ship headed the same way all the time, but

the wind and the waves, instead of taking her directly aft, now struck

her by the larboard quarter--a very dangerous situation, which exposes

a ship to receive bad surges. So Dick Sand was obliged to veer round

four points to continue to scud before the tempest.

But, on the other hand, his attention was awakened more than ever. He

asked himself if there was not some connection between Negoro's fall

and the breaking of the first compass. What did the head cook intend to

do there? Had he some interest in putting the second compass out of

service also? What could that interest be? There was no explanation of

that. Must not Negoro desire, as they all desired, to land on the

American coast as soon as possible?

When Dick Sand spoke of this incident to Mrs. Weldon, the latter,

though she shared his distrust in a certain measure, could find no

plausible motive for what would be criminal premeditation on the part

of the head cook.

However, as a matter of prudence, Negoro was well watched. Thereafter

he attended to the novice's orders and he did not risk coming aft in

the ship, where his duties never called him. Besides, Dingo having been

installed there permanently, the cook took earn to keep away.

During all that week the tempest did not abate. The barometer fell

again. From the 14th to the 26th of March it was impossible to profit

by a single calm to set a few sails. The "Pilgrim" scudded to the

northeast with a speed which could not be less than two hundred miles

in twenty-four hours, and still the land did not appear!--that land,

America, which is thrown like an immense barrier between the Atlantic

and the Pacific, over an extent of more than a hundred and twenty

degrees!

Dick Sand asked himself if he was not a fool, if he was still in his

right mind, if, for so many days, unknown to him, he was not sailing in

a false direction. No, he could not find fault with himself on that

point. The sun, even though he could not perceive it in the fogs,

always rose before him to set behind him. But, then, that land, had it

disappeared? That America, on which his vessel would go to pieces,

perhaps, where was it, if it was not there? Be it the Southern

Continent or the Northern Continent--for anything way possible in that

chaos--the "Pilgrim" could not miss either one or the other. What had

happened since the beginning of this frightful tempest? What was still

going on, as that coast, whether it should prove salvation or

destruction, did not appear? Must Dick Sand suppose, then, that he was

deceived by his compass, whose indications he could no longer control,

because the second compass was lacking to make that control? Truly, he

had that fear which the absence of all land might justify.

So, when he was at the helm, Dick Sand did not cease to devour the

chart with his eyes. But he interrogated it in vain; it could not give

him the solution of an enigma which, in the situation in which Negoro

had placed him, was incomprehensible for him, as it would have been for

any one else.

On this day, however, the 26th of March, towards eight o'clock in the

morning, an incident of the greatest importance took place.

Hercules, on watch forward, gave this cry:

"Land! land!"

Dick Sand sprang to the forecastle. Hercules could not have eyes like a

seaman. Was he not mistaken?

"Land?" cried Dick Sand.

"There," replied Hercules, showing an almost imperceptible point on the

horizon in the northeast.

They hardly heard each other speak in the midst of the roaring of the

sea and the sky.

"You have seen the land?" said the novice.

"Yes," replied Hercules.

And his hand was still stretched out to larboard forward.

The novice looked. He saw nothing.

At that moment, Mrs. Weldon, who had heard the cry given by Hercules,

came up on deck, notwithstanding her promise not to come there.

"Madam!" cried Dick Sand.

Mrs. Weldon, unable to make herself heard, tried, for herself, to

perceive that land signaled by the black, and she seemed to have

concentrated all her life in her eyes.

It must be believed that Hercules's hand indicated badly the point of

the horizon which he wished to show: neither Mrs. Weldon nor the novice

could see anything.

But, suddenly, Dick Sand in turn stretched out his hand.

"Yes! yes! land!" said he.

A kind of summit had just appeared in an opening in the fog. His

sailor's eyes could not deceive him.

"At last!" cried he; "at last!"

He clang feverishly to the netting. Mrs. Weldon, sustained by Hercules,

continued to watch that land almost despaired of.

The coast, formed by that high summit, rose at a distance of ten miles

to leeward.

The opening being completely made in a breaking of the clouds, they saw

it again more distinctly. Doubtless it was some promontory of the

American continent. The "Pilgrim," without sails, was not in a

condition to head toward it, but it could not fail to make the land

there.

That could be only a question of a few hours. Now, it was eight o'clock

in the morning. Then, very certainly, before noon the "Pilgrim" would

be near the land.

At a sign from Dick Sand, Hercules led Mrs. Weldon aft again, for she

could not bear up against the violence of the pitching.

The novice remained forward for another instant, then he returned to

the helm, near old Tom.

At last, then, he saw that coast, so slowly made, so ardently desired!

but it was now with a feeling of terror.

In fact, in the "Pilgrim's" present condition, that is to say, scudding

before the tempest, land to leeward, was shipwreck with all its

terrible contingencies.

Two hours passed away. The promontory was then seen off from the ship.

At that moment they saw Negoro come on deck. This time he regarded the

coast with extreme attention, shook his head like a man who would know

what to believe, and went down again, after pronouncing a name that

nobody could hear.

Dick Sand himself sought to perceive the coast, which ought to round

off behind the promontory.

Two hours rolled by. The promontory was standing on the larboard stern,

but the coast was not yet to be traced.

Meanwhile the sky cleared at the horizon, and a high coast, like the

American land, bordered by the immense chain of the Andes, should be

visible for more than twenty miles.

Dick Sand took his telescope and moved it slowly over the whole eastern

horizon.

Nothing! He could see nothing!

At two o'clock in the afternoon every trace of land had disappeared

behind the "Pilgrim." Forward, the telescope could not seize any

outline whatsoever of a coast, high or low.

Then a cry escaped Dick Sand. Immediately leaving the deck, he rushed

into the cabin, where Mrs. Weldon was with little Jack, Nan, and Cousin

Benedict.

"An island! That was only an island!" said he.

"An island, Dick! but what?" asked Mrs. Weldon.

"The chart will tell us," replied the novice.

And running to his berth, he brought the ship's chart.

"There, Mrs. Weldon, there!" said he. "That land which we have seen, it

can only be this point, lost in the middle of the Pacific! It can only

be the Isle of Paques; there is no other in these parts."

"And we have already left it behind?" asked Mrs. Weldon.

"Yes, well to the windward of us."

Mrs. Weldon looked attentively at the Isle of Paques, which only formed

an imperceptible point on the chart.

"And at what distance is it from the American coast?"

"Thirty-five degrees."

"Which makes----"

"About two thousand miles."

"But then the 'Pilgrim' has not sailed, if we are still so far from the

continent?"

"Mrs. Weldon," replied Dick Sand, who passed his hand over his forehead

for a moment, as if to concentrate his ideas, "I do not know--I cannot

explain this incredible delay! No! I cannot--unless the indications of

the compass have been false? But that island can only be the Isle of

Paques, because we have been obliged to scud before the wind to the

northeast, and we must thank Heaven, which has permitted me to mark our

position! Yes, it is still two thousand miles from the coast! I know,

at last, where the tempest has blown us, and, if it abates, we shall be

able to land on the American continent with some chance of safety. Now,

at least, our ship is no longer lost on the immensity of the Pacific!"

This confidence, shown by the young novice, was shared by all those who

heard him speak. Mrs. Weldon, herself, gave way to it. It seemed,

indeed, that these poor people were at the end of their troubles, and

that the "Pilgrim," being to the windward of her port, had only to wait

for the open sea to enter it! The Isle of Paques--by its true name

Vai-Hon--discovered by David in 1686, visited by Cook and Laperouse, is

situated 27° south latitude and 112° east longitude. If the schooner

had been thus led more than fifteen degrees to the north, that was

evidently due to that tempest from the southwest, before which it had

been obliged to scud.

Then the "Pilgrim" was still two thousand miles from the coast.

However, under the impetus of that wind which blew like thunder, it

must, in less than ten days, reach some point of the coast of South

America.

But could they not hope, as the novice had said, that the weather would

become more manageable, and that it would be possible to set some sail,

when they should make the land?

It was still Dick Sand's hope. He said to himself that this hurricane,

which had lasted so many days, would end perhaps by "killing itself."

And now that, thanks to the appearance of the Isle of Paques, he knew

exactly his position, he had reason to believe that, once master of his

vessel again, he would know how to lead her to a safe place.

Yes! to have had knowledge of that isolated point in the middle of the

sea, as by a providential favor, that had restored confidence to Dick

Sand; if he was going all the time at the caprice of a hurricane, which

he could not subdue, at least, he was no longer going quite blindfold.

Besides, the "Pilgrim," well-built and rigged, had suffered little

during those rude attacks of the tempest. Her damages reduced

themselves to the loss of the top-sail and the foretop-mast

stay-sail--a loss which it would be easy to repair. Not a drop of water

had penetrated through the well-stanched seams of the hull and the

deck. The pumps were perfectly free. In this respect there was nothing

to fear.

There was, then, this interminable hurricane, whose fury nothing seemed

able to moderate. If, in a certain measure, Dick Sand could put his

ship in a condition to struggle against the violent storm, he could not

order that wind to moderate, those waves to be still, that sky to

become serene again. On board, if he was "master after God," outside

the ship, God alone commanded the winds and the waves.

*       *       *       *       *

CHAPTER XIII - LAND! LAND!

Meanwhile, that confidence with which Dick Sand's heart filled

instinctively, was going to be partly justified.

The next day, March 27th, the column of mercury rose in the

barometrical tube. The oscillation was neither sudden nor

considerable--a few lines only--but the progression seemed likely to

continue. The tempest was evidently going to enter its decreasing

period, and, if the sea did remain excessively rough, they could tell

that the wind was going down, veering slightly to the west.

Dick Sand could not yet think of using any sail. The smallest sail

would be carried away. However, he hoped that twenty-four hours would

not elapse before it would be possible for him to rig a storm-jib.

During the night, in fact, the wind went down quite noticeably, if they

compared it to what it had been till then, and the ship was less tossed

by those violent rollings which had threatened to break her in pieces.

The passengers began to appear on deck again. They no longer ran the

risk of being carried away by some surge from the sea.

Mrs. Weldon was the first to leave the hatchway where Dick Sand, from

prudent motives, had obliged them to shut themselves up during the

whole duration of that long tempest. She came to talk with the novice,

whom a truly superhuman will had rendered capable of resisting so much

fatigue. Thin, pale under his sunburnt complexion, he might well be

weakened by the loss of that sleep so necessary at his age. No, his

valiant nature resisted everything. Perhaps he would pay dearly some

day for that period of trial. But that was not the moment to allow

himself to be cast down. Dick Sand had said all that to himself. Mrs.

Weldon found him as energetic as he had ever been.

And then he had confidence, that brave Sand, and if confidence does not

command itself, at least it commands.

"Dick, my dear child, my captain," said Mrs. Weldon, holding out her

hand to the young novice.

"Ah! Mrs. Weldon," exclaimed Dick Sand, smiling, "you disobey your

captain. You return on deck, you leave your cabin in spite of

his--prayers."

"Yes, I disobey you," replied Mrs. Weldon; "but I have, as it were, a

presentiment that the tempest is going down or is going to become calm."

"It is becoming calm, in fact, Mrs. Weldon," replied the novice. "You

are not mistaken. The barometer has not fallen since yesterday. The

wind has moderated, and I have reason to believe that our hardest

trials are over."

"Heaven hears you, Dick. All! you have suffered much, my poor child!

You have done there----"

"Only my duty, Mrs. Weldon."

"But at last will you be able to take some rest?"

"Rest!" replied the novice; "I have no need of rest, Mrs. Weldon. I am

well, thank God, and it is necessary for me to keep up to the end. You

have called me captain, and I shall remain captain till the moment when

all the 'Pilgrim's' passengers shall be in safety."

"Dick," returned Mrs. Weldon, "my husband and I, we shall never forget

what you have just done."

"God has done all," replied Dick Sand; "all!"

"My child, I repeat it, that by your moral and physical energy, you

have shown yourself a man--a man fit to command, and before long, as

soon as your studies are finished--my husband will not contradict

me--you will command for the house of James W. Weldon!"

"I--I----" exclaimed Dick Sand, whose eyes filled with tears.

"Dick," replied Mrs. Weldon, "you are already our child by adoption,

and now, you are our son, the deliverer of your mother, and of your

little brother Jack. My dear Dick, I embrace you for my husband and for

myself!"

The courageous woman did not wish to give way while clasping the young

novice in her arms, but her heart overflowed. As to Dick Sand's

feelings, what pen could do them justice? He asked himself if he could

not do more than give his life for his benefactors, and he accepted in

advance all the trials which might come upon him in the future.

After this conversation Dick Sand felt stronger. If the wind should

become so moderate that he should be able to hoist some canvas, he did

not doubt being able to steer his ship to a port where all those which

it carried would at last be in safety.

On the 29th, the wind having moderated a little, Dick Sand thought of

setting the foresail and the top-sail, consequently to increase the

speed of the "Pilgrim" while directing her course.

"Come, Tom; come, my friends!" cried he, when he went on deck at

daybreak; "come, I need your arms!"

"We are ready, Captain Sand," replied old Tom.

"Ready for everything," added Hercules. "There was nothing to do during

that tempest, and I begin to grow rusty."

"You should have blown with your big mouth," said little Jack; "I bet

you would have been as strong as the wind!"

"That is an idea, Jack," replied Dick Sand, laughing. "When there is a

calm we shall make Hercules blow on the sails."

"At your service, Mister Dick!" replied the brave black, inflating his

cheeks like a gigantic Boreas.

"Now, my friends," continued the novice, we are to begin by binding a

spare sail to the yard, because our top-sail was carried away in the

hurricane. It will be difficult, perhaps, but it must be done."

"It shall be done!" replied Acteon.

"Can I help you?" asked little Jack, always ready to work.

"Yes, my Jack," replied the novice. "You will take your place at the

wheel, with our friend Bat, and you will help him to steer."

If little Jack was proud of being assistant helmsman on the "Pilgrim,"

it is superfluous to say so.

"Now to work," continued Dick Sand, "and we must expose ourselves as

little as possible."

The blacks, guided by the novice, went to work at once. To fasten a

top-sail to its yard presented some difficulties for Tom and his

companions. First the rolled up sail must be hoisted, then fastened to

the yard.

However, Dick Sand commanded so well, and was so well obeyed, that

after an hour's work the sail was fastened to its yard, the yard

hoisted, and the top-sail properly set with two reefs.

As to the foresail and the second jib, which had been furled before the

tempest, those sails were set without a great deal of trouble, in spite

of the force of the wind.

At last, on that day, at ten o'clock in the morning, the "Pilgrim" was

sailing under her foresail, her top-sail, and her jib.

Dick Sand had not judged it prudent to set more sail. The canvas which

he carried ought to assure him, as long as the wind did not moderate, a

speed of at least two hundred miles in twenty-four hours, and he did

not need any greater to reach the American coast before ten days.

The novice was indeed satisfied when, returning to the wheel, he again

took his post, after thanking Master Jack, assistant helmsman of the

"Pilgrim." He was no longer at the mercy of the waves. He was making

headway. His joy will be understood by all those who are somewhat

familiar with the things of the sea.

The next day the clouds still ran with the same velocity, but they left

large openings between them, through which the rays of the sun made

their way to the surface of the waters. The "Pilgrim" was at times

overspread with them. A good thing is that vivifying light! Sometimes

it was extinguished behind a large mass of vapors which came up in the

east, then it reappeared, to disappear again, but the weather was

becoming fine again.

The scuttles had been opened to ventilate the interior of the ship. A

salubrious air penetrated the hold, the rear hatchway, the crew's

quarters. They put the wet sails to dry, stretching them out in the

sun. The deck was also cleaned. Dick Sand did not wish his ship to

arrive in port without having made a bit of toilet. Without overworking

the crew, a few hours spent each day at that work would bring it to a

good end.

Though the novice could no longer throw the log, he was so accustomed

to estimating the headway of a ship that he could take a close account

of her speed. He had then no doubt of reaching land before seven days,

and he gave that opinion to Mrs. Weldon, after showing her, on the

chart, the probable position of the ship.

"Well, at what point of the coast shall we arrive, my dear Dick?" she

asked him.

"Here, Mrs. Weldon," replied the novice, indicating that long coast

line which extends from Peru to Chili. "I do not know how to be more

exact. Here is the Isle of Paques, that we have left behind in the

west, and, by the direction of the wind, which has been constant, I

conclude that we shall reach land in the east. Ports are quite numerous

on that coast, but to name the one we shall have in view when we make

the land is impossible at this moment."

"Well, Dick, whichever it may be, that port will be welcome."

"Yes, Mrs. Weldon, and you will certainly find there the means to

return promptly to San Francisco. The Pacific Navigation Company has a

very well organized service on this coast. Its steamers touch at the

principal points of the coast; nothing will be easier than to take

passage for California."

"Then you do not count on bringing the 'Pilgrim' to San Francisco?"

asked Mrs. Weldon.

"Yes, after having put you on shore, Mrs. Weldon. If we can procure an

officer and a crew, we are going to discharge our cargo at Valparaiso,

as Captain Hull would have done. Then we shall return to our own port.

But that would delay you too much, and, though very sorry to be

separated from you----"

"Well, Dick," replied Mrs. Weldon, "we shall see later what must be

done. Tell me, you seem to fear the dangers which the land presents."

"In fact, they are to be feared," replied the novice, "but I am always

hoping to meet some ship in these parts, and I am even very much

surprised at not seeing any. If only one should pass, we would enter

into communication with her; she would give us our exact situation,

which would greatly facilitate our arrival in sight of land."

"Are there not pilots who do service along this coast?" asked Mrs.

Weldon.

"There ought to be," replied Dick Sand, "but much nearer land. We must

then continue to approach it."

"And if we do not meet a pilot?" asked Mrs. Weldon, who kept on

questioning him in order to know how the young novice would prepare for

all contingencies.

"In that case, Mrs. Weldon, either the weather will be clear, the wind

moderate, and I shall endeavor to sail up the coast sufficiently near

to find a refuge, or the wind will be stronger, and then----"

"Then what will you do, Dick?"

"Then, in the present condition of the 'Pilgrim,'" replied Dick Sand,

"once near the land, it will be very difficult to set off again."

"What will you do?" repeated Mrs. Weldon.

"I shall be forced to run my ship aground," replied the novice, whose

brow darkened for a moment. "Ah! it is a hard extremity. God grant that

we may not be reduced to that. But, I repeat it, Mrs. Weldon, the

appearance of the sky is reassuring, and it is impossible for a vessel

or a pilot-boat not to meet us. Then, good hope. We are headed for the

land, we shall see it before long."

Yes, to run a ship aground is a last extremity, to which the most

energetic sailor does not resort without fear! Thus, Dick Sand did not

wish to foresee it, while he had some chances of escaping it.

For several days there were, in the state of the atmosphere,

alternatives which, anew, made the novice very uneasy. The wind kept in

the condition of a stiff breeze all the time, and certain oscillations

of the barometrical column indicated that it tended to freshen. Dick

Sand then asked himself, not without apprehension, if he would be again

forced to scud without sails. He had so much interest in keeping at

least his top-sail, that he resolved to do so so long as it was not

likely to be carried away. But, to secure the solidity of the masts, he

had the shrouds and backstays hauled taut. Above all, all unnecessary

risk must be avoided, as the situation would become one of the gravest,

if the "Pilgrim" should be disabled by losing her masts.

Once or twice, also, the barometer rising gave reason to fear that the

wind might change point for point; that is to say, that it might pass

to the east. It would then be necessary to sail close to the wind!

A new anxiety for Dick Sand. What should he do with a contrary wind?

Tack about? But if he was obliged to come to that, what new delays and

what risks of being thrown into the offing.

Happily those fears were not realized. The wind, after shifting for

several days, blowing sometimes from the north, sometimes from the

south, settled definitely in the west. But it was always a strong

breeze, almost a gale, which strained the masting.

It was the 5th of April. So, then, more than two months had already

elapsed since the "Pilgrim" had left New Zealand. For twenty days a

contrary wind and long calms had retarded her course. Then she was in a

favorable condition to reach land rapidly. Her speed must even have

been very considerable during the tempest. Dick Sand estimated its

average at not less than two hundred miles a day! How, then, had he not

yet made the coast? Did it flee before the "Pilgrim?" It was absolutely

inexplicable.

And, nevertheless, no land was signaled, though one of the blacks kept

watch constantly in the crossbars.

Dick Sand often ascended there himself. There, with a telescope to his

eyes, he sought to discover some appearance of mountains. The Andes

chain is very high. It was there in the zone of the clouds that he must

seek some peak, emerging from the vapors of the horizon.

Several times Tom and his companions were deceived by false indications

of land. They were only vapors of an odd form, which rose in the

background. It happened sometimes that these honest men were obstinate

in their belief; but, after a certain time, they were forced to

acknowledge that they had been dupes of an optical illusion. The

pretended land, moved away, changed form and finished by disappearing

completely.

On the 6th of April there was no longer any doubt possible.

It was eight o'clock in the morning. Dick Sand had just ascended into

the bars. At that moment the fogs were condensed under the first rays

of the sun, and the horizon was pretty clearly defined.

From Dick Sand's lips escaped at last the so long expected cry:

"Land! land before us!"

At that cry every one ran on deck, little Jack, curious as folks are at

that age, Mrs. Weldon, whose trials were going to cease with the

landing, Tom and his companions, who were at last going to set foot

again on the American continent, Cousin Benedict himself, who had great

hope of picking up quite a rich collection of new insects for himself.

Negoro, alone, did not appear.

Each then saw what Dick Sand had seen, some very distinctly, others

with the eyes of faith. But on the part of the novice, so accustomed to

observe sea horizons, there was no error possible, and an hour after,

it must be allowed he was not deceived.

At a distance of about four miles to the east stretched a rather low

coast, or at least what appeared such. It must be commanded behind by

the high chain of the Andes, but the last zone of clouds did not allow

the summits to be perceived.

The "Pilgrim" sailed directly and rapidly to this coast, which grew

larger to the eye.

Two hours after it was only three miles away.

This part of the coast ended in the northeast by a pretty high cape,

which covered a sort of roadstead protected from land winds. On the

contrary, in the southeast, it lengthened out like a thin peninsula.

A few trees crowned a succession of low cliffs, which were then clearly

defined under the sky. But it was evident, the geographical character

of the country being given, that the high mountain chain of the Andes

formed their background.

Moreover, no habitation in sight, no port, no river mouth, which might

serve as a harbor for a vessel.

At that moment the "Pilgrim" was running right on the land. With the

reduced sail which she carried, the winds driving her to the coast,

Dick Sand would not be able to set off from it.

In front lay a long band of reefs, on which the sea was foaming all

white. They saw the waves unfurl half way up the cliffs. There must be

a monstrous surf there.

Dick Sand, after remaining on the forecastle to observe the coast,

returned aft, and, without saying a word, he took the helm.

The wind was freshening all the time. The schooner was soon only a mile

from the shore.

Dick Sand then perceived a sort of little cove, into which he resolved

to steer; but, before reaching it, he must cross a line of reefs, among

which it would be difficult to follow a channel. The surf indicated

that the water was shallow everywhere.

At that moment Dingo, who was going backwards and forwards on the deck,

dashed forward, and, looking at the land, gave some lamentable barks.

One would say that the dog recognized the coast, and that its instinct

recalled some sad remembrance.

Negoro must have heard it, for an irresistible sentiment led him out of

his cabin; and although he had reason to fear the dog, he came almost

immediately to lean on the netting.

Very fortunately for him Dingo, whose sad barks were all the time being

addressed to that land, did not perceive him.

Negoro looked at that furious surf, and that did not appear to frighten

him. Mrs. Weldon, who was looking at him, thought she saw his face

redden a little, and that for an instant his features were contracted.

Then, did Negoro know this point of the continent where the winds were

driving the "Pilgrim?"

At that moment Dick Sand left the wheel, which he gave back to old Tom.

For a last time he came to look at the cove, which gradually opened.

Then:

"Mrs. Weldon," said he, in a firm voice, "I have no longer any hope of

finding a harbor! Before half an hour, in spite of all my efforts, the

'Pilgrim' will be on the reefs! We must run aground! I shall not bring

the ship into port! I am forced to lose her to save you! But, between

your safety and hers, I do not hesitate!"

"You have done all that depended on you, Dick?" asked Mrs. Weldon.

"All," replied the young novice.

And at once he made his preparations for stranding the ship.

First of all, Mrs. Weldon, Jack, Cousin Benedict and Nan, must put on

life-preservers. Dick Sand, Tom and the blacks, good swimmers, also

took measures to gain the coast, in case they should be precipitated

into the sea.

Hercules would take charge of Mrs. Weldon. The novice took little Jack

under his care.

Cousin Benedict, very tranquil, however, reappeared on the deck with

his entomologist box strapped to his shoulder. The novice commended him

to Bat and Austin. As to Negoro, his singular calmness said plainly

enough that he had no need of anybody's aid.

Dick Sand, by a supreme precaution, had also brought on the forecastle

ten barrels of the cargo containing whale's oil.

That oil, properly poured the moment the "Pilgrim" would be in the

surf, ought to calm the sea for an instant, in lubricating, so to say,

the molecules of water, and that operation would perhaps facilitate the

ship's passage between the reefs. Dick Sand did not wish to neglect

anything which might secure the common safety.

All these precautions taken, the novice returned to take his place at

the wheel.

The "Pilgrim" was only two cables' lengths from the coast, that is,

almost touching the reefs, her starboard side already bathed in the

white foam of the surf. Each moment the novice thought that the

vessel's keel was going to strike some rocky bottom.

Suddenly, Dick Sand knew, by a change in the color of the water, that a

channel lengthened out among the reefs. He must enter it bravely

without hesitating, so as to make the coast as near as possible to the

shore.

The novice did not hesitate. A movement of the helm thrust the ship

into the narrow and sinuous channel. In this place the sea was still

more furious, and the waves dashed on the deck.

The blacks were posted forward, near the barrels, waiting for the

novice's orders.

"Pour the oil--pour!" exclaimed Dick Sand.

Under this oil, which was poured on it in quantities, the sea grew

calm, as by enchantment, only to become more terrible again a moment

after.

The "Pilgrim" glided rapidly over those lubricated waters and headed

straight for the shore.

Suddenly a shock took place. The ship, lifted by a formidable wave, had

just stranded, and her masting had fallen without wounding anybody.

The "Pilgrim's" hull, damaged by the collision, was invaded by the

water with extreme violence. But the shore was only half a cable's

length off, and a chain of small blackish rocks enabled it to be

reached quite easily.

So, ten minutes after, all those carried by the "Pilgrim" had landed at

the foot of the cliff.

CHAPTER XIV - THE BEST TO DO.

So then, after a voyage long delayed by calms, then favored by winds

from the northwest and from the southwest--a voyage which had not

lasted less than seventy-four days--the "Pilgrim" had just run aground!

However, Mrs. Weldon. and her companions thanked Providence, because

they were in safety. In fact, it was on a continent, and not on one of

the fatal isles of Polynesia, that the tempest had thrown them. Their

return to their country, from any point of South America on which they

should land, ought not, it seemed, to present serious difficulties.

As to the "Pilgrim," she was lost. She was only a carcass without

value, of which the surf was going to disperse the débris in a few

hours. It would be impossible to save anything. But if Dick Sand had

not that joy of bringing back a vessel intact to his ship-owner, at

least, thanks to him, those who sailed in her were safe and sound on

some hospitable coast, and among them, the wife and child of James W.

Weldon.

As to the question of knowing on what part of the American coast the

schooner had been wrecked, they might dispute it for a long time. Was

it, as Dick Sand must suppose, on the shore of Peru? Perhaps, for he

knew, even by the bearings of the Isle of Paques, that the "Pilgrim"

had been thrown to the northeast under the action of the winds; and

also, without doubt, under the influence of the currents of the

equatorial zone. From the forty-third degree of latitude, it had,

indeed, been possible to drift to the fifteenth.

It was then important to determine, as soon as possible, the precise

point of the coast where the schooner had just been lost. Granted that

this coast was that of Peru, ports, towns and villages were not

lacking, and consequently it would be easy to gain some inhabited

place. As to this part of the coast, it seemed deserted.

It was a narrow beach, strewed with black rocks, shut off by a cliff of

medium height, very irregularly cut up by large funnels due to the

rupture of the rock. Here and there a few gentle declivities gave

access to its crest.

In the north, at a quarter of a mile from the stranding place, was the

mouth of a little river, which could not have been perceived from the

offing. On its banks hung numerous rhizomas, sorts of mangroves,

essentially distinct from their congeners of India.

The crest of the cliff--that was soon discovered--was overhung by a

thick forest, whose verdant masses undulated before the eyes, and

extended as far as the mountains in the background. There, if Cousin

Benedict had been a botanist, how many trees, new to him, would not

have failed to provoke his admiration.

There were high baobabs--to which, however, an extraordinary longevity

has been falsely attributed--the bark of which resembles Egyptian

syenite, Bourbon palms, white pines, tamarind-trees, pepper-plants of a

peculiar species, and a hundred other plants that an American is not

accustomed to see in the northern region of the New Continent.

But, a circumstance rather curious, among those forest productions one

would not meet a single specimen of that numerous family of palm-trees

which counts more than a thousand species, spread in profusion over

almost the whole surface of the globe.

Above the sea-shore a great number of very noisy birds were flying,

which belonged for the greater part to different varieties of swallows,

of black plumage, with a steel-blue shade, but of a light chestnut

color on the upper part of the head. Here and there also rose some

partridges, with necks entirely white, and of a gray color.

Mrs. Weldon and Dick Sand observed that these different birds did not

appear to be at all wild. They approached without fearing anything.

Then, had they not yet learned to fear the presence of man, and was

this coast so deserted that the detonation of a firearm had never been

heard there?

At the edge of the rocks were walking some pelicans of the species of

"pelican minor," occupied in filling with little fish the sack which

they carry between the branches of their lower jaw. Some gulls, coming

from the offing, commenced to fly about around the "Pilgrim."

Those birds were the only living creatures that seemed to frequent this

part of the coast, without counting, indeed, numbers of interesting

insects that Cousin Benedict would well know how to discover. But,

however little Jack would have it, one could not ask them the name of

the country; in order to learn it, it would be necessary to address

some native. There were none there, or at least, there was not one to

be seen. No habitation, hut, or cabin, neither in the north, beyond the

little river, nor in the south, nor finally on the upper part of the

cliff, in the midst of the trees of the thick forest. No smoke ascended

into the air, no indication, mark, or imprint indicated that this

portion of the continent was visited by human beings. Dick Sand

continued to be very much surprised.

"Where are we? Where can we be?" he asked himself. "What! nobody to

speak to?"

Nobody, in truth, and surely, if any native had approached, Dingo would

have scented him, and announced him by a bark. The dog went backward

and forward on the strand, his nose to the ground, his tail down,

growling secretly--certainly very singular behavior--but neither

betraying the approach of man nor of any animal whatsoever.

"Dick, look at Dingo!" said Mrs. Weldon.

"Yes, that is very strange," replied the novice. "It seems as if he

were trying to recover a scent."

"Very strange, indeed," murmured Mrs. Weldon; then, continuing, "what

is Negoro doing?" she asked.

"He is doing what Dingo is doing," replied Dick Sand. "He goes, he

comes! After all, he is free here. I have no longer the right to

control him. His service ended with the stranding of the Pilgrim.'"

In fact, Negoro surveyed the strand, turned back, and looked at the

shore and the cliff like a man trying to recall recollections and to

fix them. Did he, then, know this country? He would probably have

refused to reply to that question if it had been asked. The best thing

was still to have nothing to do with that very unsociable personage.

Dick Sand soon saw him walk from the side of the little river, and when

Negoro had disappeared on the other side of the cliff, he ceased to

think of him.

Dingo had indeed barked when the cook had arrived on the steep bank,

but became silent almost immediately.

It was necessary, now, to consider the most pressing wants. Now, the

most pressing was to find a refuge, a shelter of some kind, where they

could install themselves for the time, and partake of some nourishment.

Then they would take counsel, and they would decide what it would be

convenient to do.

As to food, they had not to trouble themselves. Without speaking of the

resources which the country must offer, the ship's store-room had

emptied itself for the benefit of the survivors of the shipwreck. The

surf had thrown here and there among the rocks, then uncovered by the

ebb-tide, a great quantity of objects. Tom and his companions had

already picked up some barrels of biscuit, boxes of alimentary

preserves, cases of dried meat. The water not having yet damaged them,

food for the little troop was secured for more time, doubtless, than

they would require to reach a town or a village. In that respect there

was nothing to fear. These different waifs, already put in a safe

place, could no longer be taken back by a rising sea.

Neither was sweet water lacking. First of all Dick Sand had taken care

to send Hercules to the little river for a few pints. But it was a cask

which the vigorous negro brought back on his shoulder, after having

filled it with water fresh and pure, which the ebb of the tide left

perfectly drinkable.

As to a fire, if it were necessary to light one, dead wood was not

lacking in the neighborhood, and the roots of the old mangroves ought

to furnish all the fuel of which they would have need. Old Tom, an

ardent smoker, was provided with a certain quantity of German tinder,

well preserved in a box hermetically closed, and when they wanted it,

he would only have to strike the tinder-box with the flint of the

strand.

It remained, then, to discover the hole in which the little troop would

lie down, in case they must take one night's rest before setting out.

And, indeed, it was little Jack who found the bedroom in question,

While trotting about at the foot of the cliff, he discovered, behind a

turn of the rock, one of those grottoes well polished, well hollowed

out, which the sea herself digs, when the waves, enlarged by the

tempest, beat the coast.

The young child was delighted. He called his mother with cries of joy,

and triumphantly showed her his discovery.

"Good, my Jack!" replied Mrs. Weldon. "If we were Robinson Crusoes,

destined to live a long time on this shore, we should not forget to

give your name to that grotto!"

The grotto was only from ten to twelve feet long, and as many wide;

but, in little Jack's eyes, it was an enormous cavern. At all events,

it must suffice to contain the shipwrecked ones; and, as Mrs. Weldon

and Nan noted with satisfaction, it was very dry. The moon being then

in her first quarter, they need not fear that those neap-tides would

reach the foot of the cliff, and the grotto in consequence. Then,

nothing more was needed for a few hours' rest.

Ten minutes after everybody was stretched out on a carpet of sea-weed.

Negoro himself thought he must rejoin the little troop and take his

part of the repast, which was going to be made in common. Doubtless he

had not judged it proper to venture alone under the thick forest,

through which the winding river made its way.

It was one o'clock in the afternoon. The preserved meat, the biscuit,

the sweet water, with the addition of a few drops of rum, of which Bat

had saved a quarter cask, made the requisites for this repast. But if

Negoro took part in it, he did not at all mingle in the conversation,

in which were discussed the measures demanded by the situation of the

shipwrecked. All the time, without appearing to do so, he listened to

it, and doubtless profited by what he heard.

During this time Dingo, who had not been forgotten, watched outside the

grotto. They could be at ease. No living being would show himself on

the strand without the faithful animal giving the alarm.

Mrs. Weldon, holding her little Jack, half lying and almost asleep on

her lap, began to speak.

"Dick, my friend," said she, "in the name of all, I thank you for the

devotion that you have shown us till now; but we do not consider you

free yet. You will be our guide on land, as you were our captain at

sea. We place every confidence in you. Speak, then! What must we do?"

Mrs. Weldon, old Nan, Tom and his companions, all had their eyes fixed

on the young novice. Negoro himself looked at him with a singular

persistence. Evidently, what Dick Sand was going to reply interested

him very particularly.

Dick Sand reflected for a few moments. Then:

"Mrs. Weldon," said he, "the important thing is to know, first, where

we are. I believe that our ship can only have made the land on that

portion of the American sea-coast which forms the Peruvian shore. The

winds and currents must have carried her as far as that latitude. But

are we here in some southern province of Peru, that is to say on the

least inhabited part which borders upon the pampas? Maybe so. I would

even willingly believe it, seeing this beach so desolate, and, it must

be, but little frequented. In that case, we might be very far from the

nearest town, which would be unfortunate."

"Well, what is to be done?" repeated Mrs. Weldon.

"My advice," replied Dick Sand, "would be not to leave this shelter

till we know our situation. To-morrow, after a night's rest, two of us

could go to discover it. They would endeavor, without going too far, to

meet some natives, to inform themselves from them, and return to the

grotto. It is not possible that, in a radius of ten or twelve miles, we

find nobody."

"To separate!" said Mrs. Weldon.

"That seems necessary to me," replied the novice. "If no information

can be picked up, if, as is not impossible, the country is absolutely

desolate, well, we shall consider some other way of extricating

ourselves."

"And which of us shall go to explore?" asked Mrs. Weldon, after a

moment's reflection.

"That is yet to be decided," replied Dick Sand. "At all events, I think

that you, Mrs. Weldon, Jack, Mr. Benedict, and Nan, ought not to quit

this grotto. Bat, Hercules, Acteon, and Austin should remain near you,

while Tom and I should go forward. Negoro, doubtless, will prefer to

remain here?" added Dick Sand, looking at the head-cook.

"Probably," replied Negoro, who was not a man to commit himself any

more than that.

"We should take Dingo with us," continued the novice. "He would be

useful to us during our exploration."

Dingo, hearing his name pronounced, reappeared at the entrance of the

grotto, and seemed to approve of Dick Sand's projects by a little bark.

Since the novice had made this proposition, Mrs. Weldon remained

pensive. Her repugnance to the idea of a separation, even short, was

very serious. Might it not happen that the shipwreck of the "Pilgrim"

would soon be known to the Indian tribes who frequented the sea-shore,

either to the north or to the south, and in case some plunderers of the

wrecks thrown on the shore should present themselves, was it not better

for all to be united to repulse them?

That objection, made to the novice's proposition, truly merited a

discussion.

It fell, however, before Dick Sand's arguments, who observed that the

Indians ought not to be confounded with the savages of Africa or

Polynesia, and any aggression on their part was probably not to be

feared. But to entangle themselves in this country without even knowing

to what province of South America it belonged, nor at what distance the

nearest town of that province was situated, was to expose themselves to

many fatigues. Doubtless separation might have its inconveniences, but

far less than marching blindly into the midst of a forest which

appeared to stretch as far as the base of the mountains.

"Besides," repeated Dick Sand, persistently, "I cannot admit that this

separation will be of long duration, and I even affirm that it will not

be so. After two days, at the most, if Tom and I have come across

neither habitation nor inhabitant, we shall return to the grotto. But

that is too improbable, and we shall not have advanced twenty miles

into the interior of the country before we shall evidently be satisfied

about its geographical situation. I may be mistaken in my calculation,

after all, because the means of fixing it astronomically have failed

me, and it is not impossible for us to be in a higher or lower

latitude."

"Yes--you are certainly right, my child," replied Mrs. Weldon, in great

anxiety.

"And you, Mr. Benedict," asked Dick Sand, "what do you think of this

project?"

"I?" replied Cousin Benedict.

"Yes; what is your advice?"

"I have no advice," replied Cousin Benedict. "I find everything

proposed, good, and I shall do everything that you wish. Do you wish to

remain here one day or two? that suits me, and I shall employ my time

in studying this shore from a purely entomological point of view."

"Do, then, according to your wish," said Mrs. Weldon to Dick Sand. "We

shall remain here, and you shall depart with old Tom."

"That is agreed upon," said Cousin Benedict, in the most tranquil

manner in the world. "As for me, I am going to pay a visit to the

insects of the country."

"Do not go far away, Mr. Benedict," said the novice. "We urge you

strongly not to do it."

"Do not be uneasy, my boy."

"And above all, do not bring back too many musquitoes," added old Tom.

A few moments after, the entomologist, his precious tin box strapped to

his shoulders, left the grotto.

Almost at the same time Negoro abandoned it also. It appeared quite

natural to that man to, be always occupied with himself. But, while

Cousin Benedict clambered up the slopes of the cliff to go to explore

the border of the forest, he, turning round toward the river, went away

with slow steps and disappeared, a second time ascending the steep bank.

Jack slept all the time. Mrs. Weldon, leaving him on Nan's knees, then

descended toward the strand. Dick Sand and his companions followed her.

The question was, to see if the state of the sea then would permit them

to go as far as the "Pilgrim's" hull, where there were still many

objects which might be useful to the little troop.

The rocks on which the schooner had been wrecked were now dry. In the

midst of the débris of all kinds stood the ship's carcass, which the

high sea had partly covered again. That astonished Dick Sand, for he

knew that the tides are only very moderate on the American sea-shore of

the Pacific. But, after all, this phenomenon might be explained by the

fury of the wind which beat the coast.

On seeing their ship again, Mrs. Weldon and her companions experienced

a painful impression. It was there that they had lived for long days,

there that they had suffered. The aspect of that poor ship, half

broken, having neither mast nor sails, lying on her side like a being

deprived of life, sadly grieved their hearts. But they must visit this

hull, before the sea should come to finish demolishing it.

Dick Sand and the blacks could easily make their way into the interior,

after having hoisted themselves on deck by means of the ropes which

hung over the "Pilgrim's" side. While Tom, Hercules, Bat, and Austin

employed themselves in taking from the storeroom all that might be

useful, as much eatables as liquids, the novice made his way into the

arsenal. Thanks to God, the water had not invaded this part of the

ship, whose rear had remained out of the water after the stranding.

There Dick Sand found four guns in good condition, excellent Remingtons

from Purdy & Co.'s factory, as well as a hundred cartridges, carefully

shut up in their cartridge-boxes. There was material to arm his little

band, and put it in a state of defense, if, contrary to all

expectation, the Indians attacked him on the way.

The novice did not neglect to take a pocket-lantern; but the ship's

charts, laid in a forward quarter and damaged by the water, were beyond

use.

There were also in the "Pilgrim's" arsenal some of those solid

cutlasses which serve to cut up whales. Dick Sand chose six, destined

to complete the arming of his companions, and he did not forget to

bring an inoffensive child's gun, which belonged to little Jack.

As to the other objects still held by the ship, they had either been

dispersed, or they could no longer be used. Besides, it was useless to

overburden themselves for the few days the journey would last. In food,

in arms, in munitions, they were more than provided for. Meanwhile,

Dick Sand, by Mrs. Weldon's advice, did not neglect to take all the

money which he found on board--about five hundred dollars.

That was a small sum, indeed! Mrs. Weldon had carried a larger amount

herself and she did not find it again.

Who, then, except Negoro, had been able to visit the ship before them

and to lay hands on Captain Hull's and Mrs. Weldon's reserve? No one

but he, surely, could be suspected. However, Dick Sand hesitated a

moment. All that he knew and all that he saw of him was that everything

was to be feared from that concentrated nature, from whom the

misfortunes of others could snatch a smile. Yes, Negoro was an evil

being, but must they conclude from that that he was a criminal? It was

painful to Dick Sand's character to go as far as that. And, meanwhile,

could suspicion rest on any other? No, those honest negroes had not

left the grotto for an instant, while Negoro had wandered over the

beach. He alone must be guilty. Dick Sand then resolved to question

Negoro, and, if necessary, have him searched when he returned. He

wished to know decidedly what to believe.

The sun was then going down to the horizon. At that date he had not yet

crossed the equator to carry heat and light into the northern

hemisphere, but he was approaching it. He fell, then, almost

perpendicularly to that circular line where the sea and the sky meet.

Twilight was short, darkness fell promptly--which confirmed the novice

in the thought that he had landed on a point of the coast situated

between the tropic of Capricorn and the equator.

Mrs. Weldon, Dick Sand, and the blacks then returned to the grotto,

where they must take some hours' rest.

"The night will still be stormy," observed Tom, pointing to the horizon

laden with heavy clouds.

"Yes," replied Dick Sand, "there is a strong breeze blowing up. But

what matter, at present? Our poor ship is lost, and the tempest can no

longer reach us?"

"God's will be done!" said Mrs. Weldon.

It was agreed that during that night, which would be very dark, each of

the blacks would watch turn about at the entrance to the grotto. They

could, besides, count upon Dingo to keep a careful watch.

They then perceived that Cousin Benedict had not returned.

Hercules called him with all the strength of his powerful lungs, and

almost immediately they saw the entomologist coming down the slopes of

the cliff, at the risk of breaking his neck.

Cousin Benedict was literally furious. He had not found a single new

insect in the forest--no, not one--which was fit to figure in his

collection. Scorpions, scolopendras, and other myriapodes, as many as

he could wish, and even more, were discovered. And we know that Cousin

Benedict did not interest himself in myriapodes.

"It was not worth the trouble," added he, "to travel five or six

thousand miles, to have braved the tempest, to be wrecked on the coast,

and not meet one of those American hexapodes, which do honor to an

entomological museum! No; the game was not worth the candle!"

As a conclusion, Cousin Benedict asked to go away. He did not wish to

remain another hour on that detested shore.

Mrs. Weldon calmed her large child. They made him hope that he would be

more fortunate the next day, and all went to lie down in the grotto, to

sleep there till sunrise, when Tom observed that Negoro had not yet

returned, though night had arrived.

"Where can he be?" asked Mrs. Weldon.

"What matter!" said Bat.

"On the contrary, it does matter," replied Mrs. Weldon. "I should

prefer having that man still near us."

"Doubtless, Mrs. Weldon," replied Dick Sand; "but if he has forsaken

our company voluntarily, I do not see how we could oblige him to rejoin

us. Who knows but he has his reasons for avoiding us forever?"

And taking Mrs. Weldon aside, Dick Sand confided to her his suspicions.

He was not astonished to find that she had them also. Only they

differed on one point.

"If Negoro reappears," said Mrs. Weldon, "he will have put the product

of his theft in a safe place. Take my advice. What we had better do,

not being able to convict him, will be to hide our suspicions from him,

and let him believe that we are his dupes."

Mrs. Weldon was right. Dick Sand took her advice.

However, Negoro was called several times.

He did not reply. Either he was still too far away to hear, or he did

not wish to return.

The blacks did not regret being rid of his presence; but, as Mrs.

Weldon had just said, perhaps he was still more to be feared afar than

near. And, moreover, how explain that Negoro would venture alone into

that unknown country? Had he then lost his way, and on this dark night

was he vainly seeking the way to the grotto?

Mrs. Weldon and Dick Sand did not know what to think. However it was,

they could not, in order to wait for Negoro, deprive themselves of a

repose so necessary to all.

At that moment the dog, which was running on the strand, barked aloud.

"What is the matter with Dingo?" asked Mrs. Weldon.

"We must, indeed, find out," replied the novice. "Perhaps it is Negoro

coming back."

At once Hercules, Bat, Austin, and Dick Sand took their way to the

mouth of the river.

But, arrived at the bank, they neither saw nor heard anything. Dingo

now was silent.

Dick Sand and the blacks returned to the grotto.

The going to sleep was organized as well as possible. Each of the

blacks prepared himself to watch in turn outside. But Mrs. Weldon,

uneasy, could not sleep. It seemed to her that this land so ardently

desired did not give her what she had been led to hope for, security

for hers, and rest for herself.

*       *       *       *       *

CHAPTER XV - HARRIS.

The next day, April 7th, Austin, who was on guard at sunrise, saw Dingo

run barking to the little river. Almost immediately Mrs. Weldon, Dick

Sand and the blacks came out of the grotto.

Decidedly there was something there.

"Dingo has scented a living creature, man or beast," said the novice.

"At all events it was not Negoro," observed Tom, "for Dingo would bark

with fury."

"If it is not Negoro, where can he be?" asked Mrs. Weldon, giving Dick

Sand a look which was only understood by him; "and if it is not he,

who, then, is it?"

"We are going to see, Mrs. Weldon," replied the novice. Then,

addressing Bat, Austin, and Hercules, "Arm yourselves, my friends, and

come!"

Each of the blacks took a gun and a cutlass, as Dick Sand had done. A

cartridge was slipped into the breech of the Remingtons, and, thus

armed, all four went to the bank of the river.

Mrs. Weldon, Tom, and Acteon remained at the entrance of the grotto,

where little Jack and Nan still rested by themselves.

The sun was then rising. His rays, intercepted by the high mountains in

the east, did not reach the cliff directly; but as far as the western

horizon, the sea sparkled under the first fires of day.

Dick Sand and his companions followed the strand of the shore, the

curve of which joined the mouth of the river.

There Dingo, motionless, and as if on guard, was continually barking.

It was evident that he saw or scented some native.

And, in fact, it was no longer against Negoro, against its enemy on

board the ship, that the dog had a grudge this time.

At that moment a man turned the last plane of the cliff. He advanced

prudently to the strand, and, by his familiar gestures, he sought to

calm Dingo. They saw that he did not care to face the anger of the

vigorous animal.

"It is not Negoro!" said Hercules.

"We cannot lose by the change," replied Bat.

"No," said the novice. "It is probably some native, who will spare us

the ennui of a separation. We are at last going to know exactly where

we are."

And all four, putting their guns back on their shoulders, went rapidly

toward the unknown.

The latter, on seeing them approach, at first gave signs of the

greatest surprise. Very certainly, he did not expect to meet strangers

on that part of the coast. Evidently, also, he had not yet perceived

the remains of the "Pilgrim," otherwise the presence of the shipwrecked

would very naturally be explained to him. Besides, during the night the

surf had finished demolishing the ship's hull; there was nothing left

but the wrecks that floated in the offing.

At the first moment the unknown, seeing four armed men marching toward

him, made a movement as if he would retrace his steps. He carried a gun

in a shoulder-belt, which passed rapidly into his hand, and from his

hand to his shoulder. They felt that he was not reassured.

Dick Sand made a gesture of salutation, which doubtless the unknown

understood, for, after some hesitation, he continued to advance.

Dick Sand could then examine him with attention.

He was a vigorous man, forty years old at the most, his eyes bright,

his hair and beard gray, his skin sunburnt like that of a nomad who has

always lived in the open air, in the forest, or on the plain. A kind of

blouse of tanned skin served him for a close coat, a large hat covered

his head, leather boots came up above his knees, and spurs with large

rowels sounded from their high heels.

What Dick Sand noticed at first--and which was so, in fact--was that he

had before him, not one of those Indians, habitual rovers over the

pampas, but one of those adventurers of foreign blood, often not very

commendable, who are frequently met with in those distant countries.

It also seemed, by his rather familiar attitude, by the reddish color

of a few hairs of his beard, that this unknown must be of Anglo-Saxon

origin. At all events, he was neither an Indian nor a Spaniard.

And that appeared certain, when in answer to Dick Sand, who said to him

in English, "Welcome!" he replied in the same language and without any

accent.

"Welcome yourself, my young friend," said the unknown, advancing toward

the novice, whose hand he pressed.

As to the blacks, he contented himself with making a gesture to them

without speaking to them.

"You are English?" he asked the novice.

"Americans," replied Dick Sand.

"From the South?"

"From the North."

This reply seemed to please the unknown, who shook the novice's hand

more vigorously and this time in very a American manner.

"And may I know, my young friend," he asked, "how you find yourself on

this coast?"

But, at that moment, without waiting till the novice had replied to his

question, the unknown took off his hat and bowed.

Mrs. Weldon had advanced as far as the steep bank, and she then found

herself facing him.

It was she who replied to this question.

"Sir," said she, "we are shipwrecked ones whose ship was broken to

pieces yesterday on these reefs."

An expression of pity spread over the unknown's face, whose eyes sought

the vessel which had been stranded.

"There is nothing left of our ship," added the novice. "The surf has

finished the work of demolishing it during the night."

"And our first question," continued Mrs. Weldon, "will be to ask you

where we are."

"But you are on the sea-coast of South America," replied the unknown,

who appeared surprised at the question. "Can you have any doubt about

that?"

"Yes, sir, for the tempest had been able to make us deviate from our

route," replied Dick Sand. "But I shall ask where we are more exactly.

On the coast of Peru, I think."

"No, my young friend, no! A little more to the south! You are wrecked

on the Bolivian coast."

"Ah!" exclaimed Dick Sand.

"And you are even on that southern part of Bolivia which borders on

Chili."

"Then what is that cape?" asked Dick Sand, pointing to the promontory

on the north.

"I cannot tell you the name," replied the unknown, "for if I know the

country in the interior pretty well from having often traversed it, it

is my first visit to this shore."

Dick Sand reflected on what he had just learned. That only half

astonished him, for his calculation might have, and indeed must have,

deceived him, concerning the currents; but the error was not

considerable. In fact, he believed himself somewhere between the

twenty-seventh and the thirtieth parallel, from the bearings he had

taken from the Isle of Paques, and it was on the twenty-fifth parallel

that he was wrecked. There was no impossibility in the "Pilgrim's"

having deviated by relatively small digression, in such a long passage.

Besides, there was no reason to doubt the unknown's assertions, and, as

that coast was that of lower Bolivia there was nothing astonishing in

its being so deserted.

"Sir," then said Dick Sand, "after your reply I must conclude that we

are at a rather great distance from Lima."

"Oh! Lima is far away--over there--in the north!"

Mrs. Weldon, made suspicious first of all by Negoro's disappearance,

observed the newly-arrived with extreme attention; but she could

discover nothing, either in his attitude or in his manner of expressing

himself which could lead her to suspect his good faith.

"Sir," said she, "without doubt my question is not rash. You do not

seem to be of Peruvian origin?"

"I am American as you are, madam," said the unknown, who waited for an

instant for the American lady to tell him her name.

"Mrs. Weldon," replied the latter.

"I? My name is Harris and I was born in South Carolina. But here it is

twenty years since I left my country for the pampas of Bolivia, and it

gives me pleasure to see compatriots."

"You live in this part of the province, Mr. Harris?" again asked Mrs.

Weldon.

"No, Mrs. Weldon," replied Harris, "I live in the South, on the Chilian

frontier; but at this present moment I am going to Atacama, in the

northeast."

"Are we then on the borders of the desert of that name?" asked Dick

Sand.

"Precisely, my young friend, and this desert extends far beyond the

mountains which shut off the horizon."

"The desert of Atacama?" repeated Dick Sand.

"Yes," replied Harris. "This desert is like a country by itself, in

this vast South America, from which it differs in many respects. It is,

at the same time, the most curious and the least known portion of this

continent."

"And you travel alone?" asked Mrs. Weldon.

"Oh, it is not the first time that I have taken this journey!" replied

the American. "There is, two hundred miles from here, an important

farm, the Farm of San Felice, which belongs to one of my brothers, and

it is to his house that I am going for my trade. If you wish to follow

me you will be well received, and the means of transport to gain the

town of Atacama will not fail you. My brother will be happy to furnish,

them."

These offers, made freely, could only prepossess in favor of the

American, who immediately continued, addressing Mrs. Weldon:

"These blacks are your slaves?"

And he pointed to Tom and his companions.

"We have no longer any slaves in the United States," replied Mrs.

Weldon, quickly. "The North abolished slavery long ago, and the South

has been obliged to follow the example of the North!"

"Ah! that is so," replied Harris. "I had forgotten that the war of 1862

had decided that grave question. I ask those honest men's pardon for

it," added Harris, with that delicate irony which a Southerner must put

into his language when speaking to blacks. "But on seeing those

gentlemen in your service, I believed----"

"They are not, and have never been, in my service, sir," replied Mrs.

Weldon, gravely.

"We should be honored in serving you, Mrs. Weldon," then said old Tom.

"But, as Mr. Harris knows, we do not belong to anybody. I have been a

slave myself, it is true, and sold as such in Africa, when I was only

six years old; but my son Bat, here, was born of an enfranchised

father, and, as to our companions, they were born of free parents."

"I can only congratulate you about it," replied Harris, in a tone which

Mrs. Weldon did not find sufficiently serious. "In this land of

Bolivia, also, we have no slaves. Then you have nothing to fear, and

you can go about as freely here as in the New England States."

At that moment little Jack, followed by Nan, came out of the grotto

rubbing his eyes. Then, perceiving his mother, he ran to her. Mrs.

Weldon embraced him tenderly.

"The charming little boy!" said the American, approaching Jack.

"It is my son," replied Mrs. Weldon.

"Oh, Mrs. Weldon, you must have been doubly tried, because your child

has been exposed to so many dangers."

"God has brought him out of them safe and sound, as He has us, Mr.

Harris," replied Mrs. Weldon.

"Will you permit me to kiss him on his pretty cheeks?" asked Harris.

"Willingly," replied Mrs. Weldon.

But Mr. Harris's face, it appeared, did not please little Jack, for he

clung more closely to his mother.

"Hold!" said Harris, "you do not want me to embrace you? You are afraid

of me, my good little man?"

"Excuse him, sir," Mrs. Weldon hastened to say. "It is timidity on his

part."

"Good! we shall become better acquainted," replied Harris. "Once at the

Farm, he will amuse himself mounting a gentle pony, which will tell him

good things of me."

But the offer of the gentle pony did not succeed in cajoling Jack any

more than the proposition to embrace Mr. Harris.

Mrs. Weldon, thus opposed, hastened to change the conversation. They

must not offend a man who had so obligingly offered his services.

During this time Dick Sand was reflecting on the proposition which had

been made to them so opportunely, to gain the Farm of San Felice. It

was, as Harris had said, a journey of over two hundred miles, sometimes

through forests, sometimes through plains--a very fatiguing journey,

certainly, because there were absolutely no means of transport.

The young novice then presented some observations to that effect, and

waited for the reply the American was going to make.

"The journey is a little long, indeed," replied Harris, "but I have

there, a few hundred feet behind the steep bank, a horse which I count

on offering to Mrs. Weldon and her son. For us, there is nothing

difficult, nor even very fatiguing in making the journey on foot.

Besides, when I spoke of two hundred miles, it was by following, as I

have already done, the course of this river. But if we go through the

forest, our distance will be shortened by at least eighty miles. Now,

at the rate of ten miles a day, it seems to me that we shall arrive at

the Farm without too much distress."

Mrs. Weldon thanked the American.

"You cannot thank me better than by accepting," replied Harris. "Though

I have never crossed this forest, I do not believe I shall be

embarrassed in finding the way, being sufficiently accustomed to the

pampas. But there is a graver question--that of food. I have only what

is barely enough for myself while on the way to the Farm of San Felice."

"Mr. Harris," replied Mrs. Weldon, "fortunately we have food in more

than sufficient quantity, and we shall be happy to share with you."

"Well, Mrs. Weldon, it seems to me that all is arranged for the best,

and that we have only to set out."

Harris went toward the steep bank, with the intention of going to take

his horse from the place where he had left it, when Dick Sand stopped

him again, by asking him a question.

To abandon the sea-coast, to force his way into the interior of the

country, under that interminable forest, did not please the young

novice. The sailor reappeared in him, and either to ascend or descend

the coast would be more to his mind.

"Mr. Harris," said he, "instead of traveling for one hundred and twenty

miles in the Desert of Atacama, why not follow the coast? Distance for

distance, would it not be better worth while to seek to reach the

nearest town, either north or south?"

"But my young friend," replied Harris, frowning slightly, "it seems to

me that on this coast, which I know very imperfectly, there is no town

nearer than three or four hundred miles."

"To the north, yes," replied Dick Sand; "but to the south----"

"To the south," replied the American, "we must descend as far as Chili.

Now, the distance is almost as long, and, in your place, I should not

like to pass near the pampas of the Argentine Republic. As to me, to my

great regret, I could not accompany you there."

"The ships which go from Chili to Peru, do they not pass, then, in

sight of this coast?" asked Mrs. Weldon.

"No," replied Harris. "They keep much more out at sea, and you ought

not to meet any of them."

"Truly," replied Mrs. Weldon. "Well, Dick, have you still some question

to ask Mr. Harris?"

"A single one, Mrs. Weldon," replied the novice, who experienced some

difficulty in giving up. "I shall ask Mr. Harris in what port he thinks

we shall be able to find a ship to bring us back to San Francisco?"

"Faith, my young friend, I could not tell you," replied the American.

"All that I know is, that at the Farm of San Felice we will furnish you

with the means of gaining the town of Atacama, and from there----"

"Mr. Harris," then said Mrs. Weldon, "do not believe that Dick Sand

hesitates to accept your offers."

"No, Mrs. Weldon, no; surely I do not hesitate," replied the young

novice; "but I cannot help regretting not being stranded a few degrees

farther north or farther south. We should have been in proximity to a

port, and that circumstance, in facilitating our return to our country,

would prevent us from taxing Mr. Harris's good will."

"Do not fear imposing upon me, Mrs. Weldon," returned Harris. "I repeat

to you that too rarely have I occasion to find myself again in the

presence of my compatriots. For me it is a real pleasure to oblige you."

"We accept your offer, Mr. Harris," replied Mrs. Weldon; "but I should

not wish, however, to deprive you of your horse. I am a good walker----"

"And I am a very good walker," replied Harris, bowing. "Accustomed to

long journeys across the pampas, it is not I who will keep back our

caravan. No, Mrs. Weldon, you and your little Jack will use this horse.

Besides, it is possible that we may meet some of the farm servants on

the way, and, as they will be mounted--well, they will yield their

horses to us."

Dick Sand saw well that in making new objections he would oppose Mrs.

Weldon.

"Mr. Harris," said he, "when do we set out?"

"Even to-day, my young friend," replied Harris. "The bad season

commences with the month of April, and it is of the utmost importance

for you to reach the farm of San Felice first. Finally, the way across

the forest is the shortest, and perhaps the safest. It is less exposed

than the coast to the incursions of wandering Indians, who are

indefatigable robbers."

"Tom, my friends," replied Dick Sand, turning to the blacks, "it only

remains for us to make preparations for departure. Let us select, then,

from among the provisions on hand, those which can be most easily

transported, and let us make packs, of which each will take his share."

"Mr. Dick," said Hercules, "if you wish, I shall carry the whole load

very well."

"No, my brave Hercules," replied the novice; "it will be better for us

all to share the burden."

"You are a strong companion, Hercules," then said Harris, who looked at

the negro as if the latter were for sale. "In the markets of Africa you

would be worth a good price."

"I am worth what I am worth," replied Hercules, laughing, "and the

buyers will only have to run well, if they wish to catch me."

All was agreed upon, and to hasten the departure, each went to work.

However, they had only to think of feeding the little troop for the

journey from the sea-coast to the farm, that is to say, for a march of

ten days.

"But, before setting out, Mr. Harris," said Mrs. Weldon, "before

accepting your hospitality, I beg you to accept ours. We offer it to

you with our best wishes."

"I accept, Mrs. Weldon; I accept with eagerness," replied Harris, gayly.

"In a few minutes our breakfast will be ready."

"Good, Mrs. Weldon. I am going to profit by those ten minutes to go and

get my horse and bring it here. He will have breakfasted, he will."

"Do you want me to go with you, sir?" asked Dick Sand.

"As you please, my young friend," replied Harris. "Come; I shall make

you acquainted with the lower course of this river."

Both set out.

During this time, Hercules was sent in search of the entomologist.

Faith, Cousin Benedict was very uneasy indeed about what was passing

around him.

He was then wandering on the summit of the cliff in quest of an

"unfindable" insect, which, however, he did not find.

Hercules brought him back against his will. Mrs. Weldon informed him

that departure was decided upon, and that, for ten days, they must

travel to the interior of the country.

Cousin Benedict replied that he was ready to set out, and that he would

not ask better than to cross America entirely, provided they would let

him "collect" on the way.

Mrs. Weldon then occupied herself, with Nan's assistance, in preparing

a comfortable repast--a good precaution before setting out.

During this time, Harris, accompanied by Dick Sand, had turned the

angle of the cliff. Both followed the high bank, over a space of three

hundred steps. There, a horse, tied to a tree, gave joyous neighing at

the approach of his master.

It was a vigorous beast, of a species that Dick Sand could not

recognize. Neck and shoulders long, loins short, and hindquarters

stretched out, shoulders flat, forehead almost pointed. This horse

offered, however, distinctive signs of those races to which we

attribute an Arabian origin.

"You see, my young friend," said Harris, "that it is a strong animal,

and you may count on it not failing you on the route."

Harris detached his horse, took it by the bridle, and descended the

steep bank again, preceding Dick Sand. The latter had thrown a rapid

glance, as well over the river as toward the forest which shut up its

two banks. But he saw nothing of a nature to make him uneasy.

However, when he had rejoined the American, he suddenly gave him the

following question, which the latter could little expect:

"Mr. Harris," he asked, "you have not met a Portuguese, named Negoro,

in the night?"

"Negoro?" replied Harris, in the tone of a man who does not understand

what is said. "Who is this Negoro?"

"He was the cook on board," replied Dick Sand, "and he has disappeared."

"Drowned, perhaps," said Harris.

"No, no," replied Dick Sand. "Yesterday evening he was still with us,

but during the night he has left us, and he has probably ascended the

steep bank of this river. So I asked you, who have come from that side,

if you had not met him."

"I have met nobody," replied the American; "and if your cook has

ventured alone into the forest, he runs a great risk of going astray.

Perhaps we shall overtake him on the way."

"Yes; perhaps!" replied Dick Sand.

When the two returned to the grotto, breakfast was ready. It was

composed, like the supper of the evening before, of alimentary

conserves, of corned beef and of biscuit. Harris did honor to it, like

a man whom nature had endowed with a great appetite.

"Let us go," said he; "I see that we shall not die of hunger on the

way! I shall not say as much for that poor devil of a Portuguese, of

whom our young friend has spoken."

"Ah!" said Mrs. Weldon, "Dick Sand has told you that we have not seen

Negoro again?"

"Yes, Mrs. Weldon," replied the novice. "I desired to know if Mr.

Harris had not met him."

"No," replied Harris; "so let us leave that deserter where he is, and

think of our departure--whenever you are ready, Mrs. Weldon."

Each took the pack which was intended for him. Mrs. Weldon, assisted by

Hercules, placed herself on the horse, and the ungrateful little Jack,

with his gun strapped on his back, straddled the animal without even

thinking of thanking him who had put that excellent beast at his

disposal. Jack, placed before his mother, then said to her that he

would know how to lead the gentleman's horse very well.

They then gave him the bridle to hold, and he did not doubt that he was

the veritable head of the caravan.

*       *       *       *       *

CHAPTER XVI - ON THE WAY.

It was not without a certain apprehension--nothing seemed to justify

it, however--that Dick Sand, three hundred steps from the steep bank of

the river, penetrated into the thick forest, the difficult paths of

which he and his companions were going to follow for ten days. On the

contrary, Mrs. Weldon herself, a woman and a mother, whom the perils

would make doubly anxious, had every confidence. Two very serious

motives had contributed to reassure her; first, because this region of

the pampas was neither very formidable on account of the natives, nor

on account of the animals which were found there; next, because, under

the direction of Harris, of a guide so sure of himself as the American

appeared to be, they could not be afraid of going astray.

Here is the order of proceeding, which, as far as possible, would be

observed during the journey:

Dick Sand and Harris, both armed, one with his long gun, the other with

a Remington, kept at the head of the little troop.

Then came Bat and Austin, also armed, each with a gun and a cutlass.

Behind them followed Mrs. Weldon and little Jack, on horseback; then

Nan and Tom.

In the rear, Acteon, armed with the fourth Remington, and Hercules,

with a hatchet in his belt, closed the march.

Dingo went backwards and forwards, and, as Dick Sand remarked, always

like an uneasy dog seeking a scent. The dog's ways had visibly changed

since the "Pilgrim's" shipwreck had cast it on this sea-coast. It

seemed agitated, and almost incessantly it kept up a dull grumbling,

rather lamentable than furious. That was remarked by all, though no one

could explain it.

As to Cousin Benedict, it had been as impossible to assign him an order

of marching as Dingo. Unless he had been held by a string, he would not

have kept it. His tin box strapped to his shoulder, his net in his

hand, his large magnifying glass suspended to his neck, sometimes

behind, sometimes in front, he scampered away among the high herbs,

watching for orthopters or any other insect in "pter," at the risk of

being bit by some venomous serpent.

During the first hour Mrs. Weldon, uneasy, called him back twenty

times. It was no use.

"Cousin Benedict," she finished by saying to him, "I beg you very

seriously not to go far away, and I urge you for the last time to pay

attention to my entreaties."

"Meanwhile, cousin," replied the intractable entomologist, "when I

perceive an insect?"

"When you perceive an insect," replied Mrs. Weldon, "you would do well

to let it go in peace, or you will put me under the necessity of taking

your box away from you."

"Take away my box!" cried Cousin Benedict, as if it were a question of

snatching away his heart.

"Your box and your net," added Mrs. Weldon, pitilessly.

"My net, cousin! And why not my glasses? You will not dare! No; you

will not dare!"

"Even, your glasses, which I forgot. I thank you, Cousin Benedict, for

reminding me that I have that means of making you blind, and, in that

way, forcing you to be wise."

This triple menace had the effect of making him keep quiet--this

unsubmissive cousin--for about an hour. Then he began to go away again,

and, as he would do the same, even without net, without box, and

without glasses, they were obliged to let him do as he pleased. But

Hercules undertook to watch him closely--which quite naturally became

one of his duties--and it was agreed that he would act with Cousin

Benedict as the latter would with an insect; that is, that he would

catch him, if necessary, and bring him back as delicately as the other

would with the rarest of the lepidopters.

That rule made, they troubled themselves no more about Cousin Benedict.

The little troop, it has been seen, was well armed, and guarded itself

carefully. But, as Harris repeated, there was no encounter to fear

except with wandering Indians, and they would probably see none.

At all events, the precautions taken would suffice to keep them

respectful.

The paths which wound across the thick forest did not merit that name.

They were rather the tracks of animals than the tracks of men. They

could only be followed with difficulty. So, in fixing the average

distance that the little troop would make in a march of twelve hours at

only five or six miles, Harris had calculated wisely.

The weather, however, was very fine. The sun mounted toward the zenith,

spreading in waves his almost perpendicular rays. On the plain this

heat would be unbearable, Harris took care to remark; but, under those

impenetrable branches, they bore it easily and with impunity.

The greater part of the trees of this forest were unknown, as well to

Mrs. Weldon as to her companions, black or white.

However, an expert would remark that they were more remarkable for

their quality than for their height. Here, it was the "banhinia," or

iron wood; there, the "molompi," identical with the "pterocarpe," a

solid and light wood, fit for making the spoons used in sugar

manufactories or oars, from the trunk of which exuded an abundant

resin; further on, "fusticks," or yellow wood, well supplied with

coloring materials, and lignum-vitæs, measuring as much as twelve feet

in diameter, but inferior in quality to the ordinary lignum-vitæs.

While walking, Dick Sand asked Harris the name of these different trees.

"Then you have never been on the coast of South America?" Harris asked

him before replying to his question.

"Never," replied the novice; "never, during my voyages, have I had

occasion to visit these coasts, and to say the truth, I do not believe

that anybody who knew about them has ever spoken to me of them."

"But have you at least explored the coasts of Colombia, those of Chili,

or of Patagonia?"

"No, never."

"But perhaps Mrs. Weldon has visited this part of the new continent?"

asked Harris. "Americans do not fear voyages, and doubtless----"

"No, Mr. Harris," replied Mrs. Weldon. "The commercial interests of my

husband have never called him except to New Zealand, and I have not had

to accompany him elsewhere. Not one of us, then, knows this portion of

lower Bolivia."

"Well, Mrs. Weldon, you and your companions will see a singular

country, which contrasts strangely with the regions of Peru, of Brazil,

or of the Argentine Republic. Its flora and fauna would astonish a

naturalist. Ah! we may say that you have been shipwrecked at a good

place, and if we may ever thank chance----"

"I wish to believe that it is not chance which has led us here, but

God, Mr. Harris."

"God! Yes! God!" replied Harris, in the tone of a man who takes little

account of providential intervention in the things of this world.

Then, since nobody in the little troop knew either the country or its

productions, Harris took a pleasure in naming pleasantly the most

curious trees of the forest.

In truth, it was a pity that, in Cousin Benedict's case, the

entomologist was not supplemented by the botanist! If, up to this time,

he had hardly found insects either rare or new, he might have made fine

discoveries in botany. There was, in profusion, vegetation of all

heights, the existence of which in the tropical forests of the New

World had not been yet ascertained. Cousin Benedict would certainly

have attached his name to some discovery of this kind. But he did not

like botany--he knew nothing about it. He even, quite naturally, held

flowers in aversion, under the pretext that some of them permit

themselves to imprison the insects in their corollas, and poison them

with their venomous juices.

At times, the forest became marshy. They felt under foot quite a

network of liquid threads, which would feed the affluents of the little

river. Some of the rills, somewhat large, could only be crossed by

choosing fordable places.

On their banks grew tufts of reeds, to which Harris gave the name of

papyrus. He was not mistaken, and those herbaceous plants grew

abundantly below the damp banks.

Then, the marsh passed, thickets of trees again covered the narrow

routes of the forest.

Harris made Mrs. Weldon and Dick Sand remark some very fine

ebony-trees, much larger than the common ebony-tree, which furnish a

wood much blacker and much stronger than that of commerce. Then there

were mango-trees, still numerous, though they were rather far from the

sea. A kind of fur of white moss climbed them as far as the branches.

Their thick shade and their delicious fruit made them precious trees,

and meanwhile, according to Harris, not a native would dare to

propagate the species. "Whoever plants a mango-tree dies!" Such is the

superstitious maxim of the country.

During the second half of this first day of the journey, the little

troop, after the midday halt, began to ascend land slightly inclined.

They were not as yet the slopes of the chain of the first plane, but a

sort of undulating plateau which connected the plain with the mountain.

There the trees, a little less compact, sometimes clustered in groups,

would have rendered the march easier, if the soil had not been invaded

by herbaceous plants. One might believe himself in the jungles of

Oriental India. Vegetation appeared to be less luxuriant than in the

lower valley of the little river, but it was still superior to that of

the temperate regions of the Old or of the New World.

Indigo was growing there in profusion, and, according to Harris, this

leguminous plant passed with reason for the most usurping plant of the

country. If a field came to be abandoned, this parasite, as much

despised as the thistle or the nettle, took possession of it

immediately.

One tree seemed lacking in this forest, which ought to be very common

in this part of the new continent; it was the caoutchouc-tree. In fact,

the "ficus primoides," the "castilloa elastica," the "cecropia

peltats," the "collophora utilis," the "cameraria letifolia," and above

all, the "syphonia elastica," which belong to different families,

abound in the provinces of South America. And meanwhile, a rather

singular thing, there was not a single one to be seen.

Now, Dick Sand had particularly promised his friend Jack to show him

some caoutchouc trees. So a great deception for the little boy, who

figured to himself that gourds, speaking babies, articulate

punchinellos, and elastic balloons grew quite naturally on those trees.

He complained.

"Patience, my good little man," replied Harris. "We shall find some of

those caoutchoucs, and by hundreds, in the neighborhood of the farm."

"Handsome ones, very elastic?" asked little Jack.

"The most elastic there are. Hold! while waiting, do you want a good

fruit to take away your thirst?" And, while speaking, Harris went to

gather from a tree some fruits, which seemed to be as pleasant to the

taste as those from the peach-tree.

"Are you very sure, Mr. Harris," asked Mrs. Weldon, "that this fruit

can do no harm?"

"Mrs. Weldon, I am going to convince you," replied the American, who

took a large mouthful of one of those fruits. "It is a mango."

And little Jack, without any more pressing, followed Harris's example,

He declared that it was very good, "those pears," and the tree was at

once put under contribution.

Those mangos belonged to a species whose fruit is ripe in March and

April, others being so only in September, and, consequently, their

mangos were just in time.

"Yes, it is good, good, good!" said little Jack, with his mouth full.

"But my friend Dick has promised me caoutchoucs, if I was very good,

and I want caoutchoucs!"

"You will have them, Jack," replied Mrs. Weldon, "because Mr. Harris

assures you of it."

"But that is not all," went on Jack. "My friend Dick has promised me

some other thing!"

"What then, has friend Dick promised?" asked Harris, smiling.

"Some humming-birds, sir."

"And you shall have some humming-birds, my good little man, but farther

on--farther on," replied Harris.

The fact is that little Jack had a right to claim some of these

charming creatures, for he was now in a country where they should

abound. The Indians, who know how to weave their feathers artistically,

have lavished the most poetical names on those jewels of the flying

race. They call them either the "rays" or the "hairs of the sun." Here,

it is "the little king of the flowers;" there, "the celestial flower

that comes in its flight to caress the terrestrial flower." It is again

"the bouquet of jewels, which sparkles in the fire of the day." It can

be believed that their imagination would know how to furnish a new

poetical appellation for each of the one hundred and fifty species

which constitute this marvelous tribe of humming-birds.

Meanwhile, however numerous these humming-birds might be in the forests

of Bolivia, little Jack was obliged to still content himself with

Harris's promise. According to the American, they were still too close

to the coast, and the humming-birds did not like these deserts so near

the ocean. The presence of man did not frighten them at the "hacienda;"

they heard nothing all day but their cry of "teretere" and the murmur

of their wings, similar to that of a spinning-wheel.

"Ah! how I should like to be there!" cried little Jack.

The surest method of getting there--to the "hacienda" of San

Felice--was not to stop on the road. Mrs. Weldon and her companions

only took the time absolutely necessary for repose.

The aspect of the forest already changed. Between the less crowded

trees large clearings opened here and there. The sun, piercing the

green carpet, then showed its structure of red, syenite granite,

similar to slabs of lapis-lazuli. On some heights the sarsaparilla

abounded, a plant with fleshy tubercles, which formed an inextricable

tangle. The forest, with the narrow paths, was better for them.

Before sunset the little troop were about eight miles from the point of

departure. This journey had been made without accident, and even

without great fatigue. It is true, it was the first journey on the

march, and no doubt the following halting places would be rougher.

By a common consent they decided to make a halt at this place. The

question then was, not to establish a real camp, but to simply organize

a resting-place. One man on guard, relieved every two hours, would

suffice to watch during the night, neither the natives nor the deer

being truly formidable.

They found nothing better for shelter than an enormous mango-tree,

whose large branches, very bushy, formed a kind of natural veranda. If

necessary, they could nestle in the branches.

Only, on the arrival of the little troop, a deafening concert arose

from the top of the tree.

The mango served as a perch for a colony of gray parrots, prattling,

quarrelsome, ferocious birds, which set upon living birds, and those

who would judge them from their congeners which Europe keeps in cages,

would be singularly mistaken.

These parrots jabbered with such a noise that Dick Sand thought of

firing at them to oblige them to be silent, or to put them to flight.

But Harris dissuaded him, under the pretext that in these solitudes it

was better not to disclose his presence by the detonation of a fire-arm.

"Let us pass along without noise," he said, "and we shall pass along

without danger."

Supper was prepared at once, without any need of proceeding to cook

food. It was composed of conserves and biscuit. A little rill, which

wound under the plants, furnished drinkable water, which they did not

drink without improving it with a few drops of rum. As to dessert,

the mango was there with its juicy fruit, which the parrots did not

allow to be picked without protesting with their abominable cries.

At the end of the supper it began to be dark. The shade rose slowly

from the ground to the tops of the trees, from which the foliage soon

stood out like a fine tracery on the more luminous background of the

sky. The first stars seemed to be shining flowers, which twinkled at

the end of the last branches. The wind went down with the night, and no

longer trembled in the branches of the trees. The parrots themselves

had become mute. Nature was going to rest, and inviting every living

being to follow her in this deep sleep.

Preparations for retiring had to be of a very primitive character.

"Shall we not light a large fire for the night?" Dick Sand asked the

American.

"What's the good?" replied Harris. "Fortunately the nights are not

cold, and this enormous mango will preserve the soil from all

evaporation. We have neither cold nor dampness to fear. I repeat, my

young friend, what I told you just now. Let us move along incognito. No

more fire than gunshots, if possible."

"I believe, indeed," then said Mrs. Weldon, "that we have nothing to

fear from the Indians--even from those wanderers of the woods, of whom

you have spoken, Mr. Harris. But, are there not other four-footed

wanderers, that the sight of a fire would help to keep at a distance?"

"Mrs. Weldon," replied the American, "you do too much honor to the deer

of this country. Indeed, they fear man more than he fears them."

"We are in a wood," said Jack, "and there is always beasts in the

woods."

"There are woods and woods, my good little man, as there are beasts and

beasts," replied Harris, laughing. "Imagine that you are in the middle

of a large park. Truly, it is not without reason that the Indians say

of this country, 'Es como el pariso!' It is like an earthly paradise!"

"Then there are serpents?" said Jack.

"No, my Jack," replied Mrs. Weldon, "there are no serpents, and you may

sleep tranquilly."

"And lions?" asked Jack.

"Not the ghost of a lion, my good little man," replied Harris.

"Tigers, then?"

"Ask your mama if she has ever heard tell of tigers on this continent."

"Never," replied Mrs. Weldon.

"Good!" said Cousin Benedict, who, by chance, was listening to the

conversation: "if there are neither lions nor tigers in the New World,

which is perfectly true, we at least encounter cougars and jaguars."

"Are they bad?" asked little Jack.

"Phew!" replied Harris; "a native has little fear of attacking those

animals, and we are strong. Stay! Hercules would be strong enough to

crush two jaguars at once, one in each hand!"

"You will watch well, Hercules," then said little Jack, "and if a beast

comes to bite us----"

"It is I who will bite it, Mr. Jack!" replied Hercules, showing his

mouth, armed with superb teeth.

"Yes, you will watch, Hercules," said the novice, "but your companions

and I will relieve you, turn about."

"No, Mr. Dick," replied Acteon, "Hercules, Bat, Austin, and I, we four

will be enough for this labor. You must rest the whole night."

"Thank you, Acteon," replied Dick Sand, "but I ought to----"

"No! let those brave men do it, my dear Dick!" then said Mrs. Weldon.

"I, also; I shall watch!" added little Jack, whose eyelids were already

closing.

"Yes, my Jack, yes, you will watch!" replied his mother, who did not

wish to contradict him.

"But," the little boy said again, "if there are no lions, if there are

no tigers in the forest, there are wolves!"

"Oh! wolves in jest!" replied the American. "They are not even wolves,

but kinds of foxes, or rather of those dogs of the woods which they

call 'guaras.'"

"And those guaras, they bite?" asked little Jack.

"Bah! Dingo would make only one mouthful of those beasts!"

"Never mind," replied Jack, with a last yawn; "guaras are wolves,

because they are called wolves!"

And with that Jack fell asleep peaceably in Nan's arms, beside the

trunk of the mango. Mrs. Weldon, lying near her, gave a last kiss to

her little boy, and her tired eyes quickly closed for the night.

A few moments later Hercules brought back to the camp Cousin Benedict,

who had just gone off to commence a chase for pyrophores. They are

"cocuyos," or luminous flies, which the stylish put in their hair, like

so many living gems. These insects which throw a bright and bluish

light from two spots situated at the base of their corselet, are very

numerous in South America. Cousin Benedict then counted on making a

large collection, but Hercules did not leave him time, and, in spite of

his recriminations, the negro brought him to the halting-place. That

was because, when Hercules had orders, he executed them with military

preciseness, which, no doubt, prevented the incarceration of a notable

quantity of luminous flies in the entomologist's tin box.

A few moments after, with the exception of the giant, who was watching,

all were reposing in a profound sleep.

CHAPTER XVII - A HUNDRED MILES IN TWO DAYS.

Generally, travelers or ramblers in the woods, who have slept in the

forests under the lovely stars, are awakened by howlings as fantastic

as disagreeable. There is everything in this morning concert: clucking,

grunting, croaking, sneering, barking, and almost "speaking," if one

may make use of this word, which completes the series of different

noises.

There are the monkeys who thus salute the daybreak. There we meet the

little "marikina," the marmoset with a speckled mask; the "mono gris,"

the skin of which the Indians use to recover the batteries of their

guns; the "sagous," recognizable from their long bunches of hair, and

many others, specimens of this numerous family.

Of these various four-handed animals, the most remarkable are decidedly

the "gueribas," with curling tails and a face like Beelzebub. When the

sun rises, the oldest of the band, with an imposing and mysterious

voice, sings a monotonous psalm. It is the baritone of the troop. The

young tenors repeat after him the morning symphony. The Indians say

then that the "gueribas" recite their pater-nosters.

But, on this day, it seemed that the monkeys did not offer their

prayer, for no one heard them; and, meanwhile, their voice is loud, for

it is produced by the rapid vibration of a kind of bony drum, formed by

a swelling of the hyoides bone in the neck.

In short, for one reason or for another, neither the "gueribas," nor

the "sagous," nor any other four-handed animals of this immense forest,

sang, on this morning, their usual concert.

This would not have satisfied the wandering Indians. Not that these

natives appreciate this kind of strange choral music, but they

willingly give chase to the monkeys, and if they do, it is because the

flesh of this animal is excellent, above all, when it is smoke-dried.

Dick Sand, of course, could not be familiar with the habits of the

"gueribas," neither were his companions, or this not hearing them would

have undoubtedly been a subject of surprise. They awoke then, one after

the other, much refreshed by these few hours of repose, which no alarm

had come to disturb.

Little Jack was not the last to stretch his arms. His first question

was, to ask if Hercules had eaten a wolf during the night. No wolf had

shown himself, and consequently Hercules had not yet breakfasted.

All, besides, were fasting like him, and after the morning prayer, Nan

occupied herself preparing the repast.

The bill of fare was that of the supper of the night before, but with

appetites sharpened by the morning air of the forest, no one dreamed of

being difficult to please. It was necessary, above all, to gather

strength for a good day's march, and they did it. For the first time,

perhaps, Cousin Benedict comprehended that to eat was not an action

indifferent or useless to life; only, he declared that he had not come

to "visit" this country to walk with his hands in his pockets, and

that, if Hercules prevented him from chasing the "cocuyos," and other

luminous flies, Hercules would have some trouble with him.

This threat did not seem to frighten the giant to any great extent.

However, Mrs. Weldon took him aside and told him that, perhaps, he

might allow his big baby to run to the right and left, but on condition

that he did not lose sight of him. It would not do to completely sever

Cousin Benedict from the pleasures so natural to his age.

At seven o'clock in the morning, the little troop took up their journey

toward the east, preserving the order of march that had been adopted

the previous day. It was always the forest. On this virgin soil, where

the heat and the moisture agreed to produce vegetation, it might well

be thought that the reign of growth appeared in all its power. The

parallel of this vast plateau was almost confounded with tropical

latitudes, and, during certain months in summer, the sun, in passing to

the zenith, darted its perpendicular rays there. There was, therefore,

an enormous quantity of imprisoned heat in this earth, of which the

subsoil preserved the damp. Also, nothing could be more magnificent

than this succession of forests, or rather this interminable forest.

Meanwhile, Dick Sand had not failed to observe this--that, according to

Harris, they were in the region of the pampas. Now, pampas is a word

from the "quichna" language, which signifies a plain. Now, if his

recollections did not deceive him, he believed that these plains

presented the following characteristics: Lack of water, absence of

trees, a failure of stones, an almost luxuriant abundance of thistles

during the rainy season, thistles which became almost shrubby with the

warm season, and then formed impenetrable thickets; then, also, dwarf

trees, thorny shrubs, the whole giving to these plains a rather arid

and desolate aspect.

Now, it had not been thus, since the little troop, guided by the

American, had left the coast. The forest had not ceased to spread to

the limits of the horizon. No, this was not the pampas, such as the

young novice had imagined them. Had nature, as Harris had told him,

been able to make a region apart from the plateau of Atacama, of which

he knew nothing, if it did not form one of the most vast deserts of

South America, between the Andes and the Pacific Ocean?

On that day Dick Sand propounded some questions on this subject, and

expressed to the American the surprise he felt at this singular

appearance of the pampas.

But he was quickly undeceived by Harris, who gave him the most exact

details about this part of Bolivia, thus witnessing to his great

knowledge of the country.

"You are right, my young friend," he said to the novice. "The true

pampa is indeed such as the books of travels have depicted it to you,

that is, a plain rather arid, and the crossing of which is often

difficult. It recalls our savannahs of North America--except that these

are a little marshy. Yes, such is indeed the pampa of the Rio Colorado,

such are the "llanos" of the Orinoco and of Venezuela. But here, we are

in a country, the appearance of which even astonishes me. It is true,

it is the first time I have followed this route across the plateau, a

route which has the advantage of shortening our journey. But, if I have

not yet seen it, I know that it presents an extraordinary contrast to

the veritable pampa. As to this one, you would find it again, not

between the Cordilleras of the west and the high chain of the Andes,

but beyond the mountains, over all that eastern part of the continent

which extends as far as the Atlantic."

"Must we then clear the Andes range?" Dick Sand asked, quickly.

"No, my young friend, no," replied the American, smiling. "So I said:

You would find it again, and not: You will find it again. Be

reassured, we shall not leave this plateau, the greatest elevations of

which do not exceed fifteen hundred feet. Ah! if it had been necessary

to cross the Cordilleras with only the means of transport at our

disposal, I should never have drawn you into such an undertaking."

"In fact," replied Dick Sand, "it would be better to ascend or descend

the coast."

"Oh! a hundred times!" replied Harris. "But the Farm of San Felice is

situated on this side of the Cordilleras. So, then, our journey,

neither in its first nor in its second part, will offer any real

difficulty."

"And you do not fear going astray in these forests, which you cross for

the first time?" asked Dick Sand.

"No, my young friend, no," replied Harris. "I know indeed that this

forest is like an immense sea, or rather like the bottom of a sea,

where a sailor himself could not take the latitude nor recognize his

position. But accustomed to traveling in the woods, I know how to find

my route only by the inclination of certain trees, by the direction of

their leaves, by the movement or the composition of the soil, by a

thousand details which escape you! Be sure of it, I will lead you, you

and yours, where you ought to go!"

All these things were said very clearly by Harris. Dick Sand and he, at

the head of the troop, often talked without any one mingling in their

conversation. If the novice felt some doubts that the American did not

always succeed in scattering, he preferred to keep them to himself.

The 8th, 9th, 10th, 11th, and 12th of April passed in this manner,

without any incident to mark the journey. They did not make more than

eight to nine miles in twelve hours. The times consecrated to eating or

repose came at regular intervals, and though a little fatigue was felt

already, the sanitary condition was still very satisfactory.

Little Jack began to suffer a little from this life in the woods, to

which he was not accustomed, and which was becoming very monotonous for

him. And then all the promises which had been made him had not been

kept. The caoutchouc jumping-jacks, the humming-birds, all those seemed

constantly to recede. There had also been a question of showing him the

most beautiful parrots in the world, and they ought not to be wanting

in these rich forests. Where, then, were the popinjays with green

plumage, almost all originally from these countries, the aras, with

naked cheeks, with long pointed tails, with glittering colors, whose

paws never rest on the earth, and the "camindes," which are more

peculiar to tropical countries, and the many-colored she-parrots, with

feathered faces, and finally all those prattling birds which, according

to the Indians, still speak the language of extinct tribes?

Of parrots, little Jack only saw ash-gray jakos, with red tails, which

abounded under the trees. But these jakos were not new to him. They

have transported them into all parts of the world. On the two

continents they fill the houses with their insupportable chattering,

and, of all the family of the "psittacius," they are the ones which

learn to speak most easily.

It must be said, besides, that if Jack was not contented, Cousin

Benedict was no more so. He had been allowed to wander a little to the

right or to the left during the march. However, he had not found any

insect which was fit to enrich his collection. Even the "pyrophores"

obstinately refused to show themselves to him, and attract him by the

phosphorescences of their corselet. Nature seemed truly to mock the

unhappy entomologist, whose temper was becoming cross.

For four days more the march toward the northeast was continued in the

same way. On the 16th of April the distance traversed from the coast

could not be estimated at less than one hundred miles. If Harris had

not gone astray--and he affirmed it without hesitation--the Farm of San

Felice was no more than twenty miles from the halting place of that

day. Before forty-eight hours the little troop then would have a

comfortable shelter where its members could at last repose from their

fatigues.

Meanwhile, though the plateau had been almost entirely crossed in its

middle part, not a native, not a wanderer had been encountered under

the immense forest.

More than once, without saying anything about it, Dick Sand regretted

being unable to go ashore on some other point of the coast. More to the

south, or more to the north, villages, hamlets, or plantations would

not have been lacking, and long before this Mrs. Weldon and her

companions would have found an asylum.

But, if the country seemed to be abandoned by man, animals showed

themselves more frequently during these last days. At times was heard a

kind of long, plaintive cry, that Harris attributed to some of those

large tardi-grades, habitual denizens of those vast wooded regions,

named "ais."

On that day, also, during the midday halt, a hissing passed through the

air, which made Mrs. Weldon very uneasy, because it was so strange.

"What is that?"' she asked, rising hastily.

"A serpent!" cried Dick Sand, who gun, in hand, threw himself before

Mrs. Weldon.

They might fear, in fact, that some reptile would glide among the

plants to the halting place. It would be nothing astonishing if it were

one of those enormous "sucurus," kinds of boas, which sometimes measure

forty feet in length.

But Harris reminded Dick Sand that the blacks were already following,

and he reassured Mrs. Weldon.

According to him, that hissing could not be produced by a "sucuru,"

because that serpent does not hiss; but he indicated the presence of

several inoffensive quadrupeds, rather numerous in that country.

"Be reassured, then," said he, "and make no movement which may frighten

those animals."

"But what are they?" asked Dick Sand, who made it like a law of

conscience to interrogate and make the American speak--who, however,

never required pressing before replying.

"They are antelopes, my young friend," replied Harris.

"Oh! how I should like to see them!" cried Jack.

"That is very difficult, my good little man," replied the American,

"very difficult."

"Perhaps we may try to approach than--those hissing antelopes?"

returned Dick Sand.

"Oh! you will not take three steps," replied the American, shaking his

head, "before the whole band will take flight. I beg of you, then, not

to trouble yourself."

But Dick Sand had his reasons for being curious. He wished to see, and,

gun in hand, he glided among the herbs. Immediately a dozen graceful

gazelles, with small, sharp horns, passed with the rapidity of a

water-spout. Their hair, bright red, looked like a cloud of fire under

the tall underwood of the forest.

"I had warned you," said Harris, when the novice returned to take his

place.

Those antelopes were so light of foot, that it had been truly

impossible to distinguish them; but it was not so with another troop of

animals which was signaled the same day. Those could be

seen--imperfectly, it is true--but their apparition led to a rather

singular discussion between Harris and some of his companions.

The little troop, about four o'clock in the afternoon, had stopped for

a moment near an opening in the woods, when three or four animals of

great height went out of a thicket a hundred steps off, and scampered

away at once with remarkable speed.

In spite of the American's recommendations, this time the novice,

having quickly shouldered his gun, fired at one of these animals. But

at the moment when the charge was going off, the weapon had been

rapidly turned aside by Harris, and Dick Sand, skilful as he was, had

missed his aim.

"No firing; no firing!" said the American.

"Ah, now, but those are giraffes!" cried Dick Sand, without otherwise

replying to Harris's observation.

"Giraffes!" repeated Jack, standing up on the horse's saddle. "Where

are they, the large beasts?"

"Giraffes!" replied Mrs. Weldon. "You are mistaken, my dear Dick. There

are no giraffes in America."

"Indeed," said Harris, who appeared rather surprised, "there cannot be

any giraffes in this country."

"What, then?" said Dick Sand.

"I really do not know what to think," replied Harris. "Have not your

eyes deceived you, my young friend, and are not those animals more

likely to be ostriches?"

"Ostriches!" repeated Dick Sand and Mrs. Weldon, looking at each other

in great surprise.

"Yes, only ostriches," repeated Harris.

"But ostriches are birds," returned Dick Sand, "and consequently they

have only two feet."

"Well," replied Harris, "I indeed thought I saw that those animals,

which have just made off so rapidly, were bipeds."

"Bipeds!" replied the novice.

"Indeed it seemed to me that I saw animals with four legs," then said

Mrs. Weldon.

"I also," added old Tom; then Bat, Acteon, and Austin confirmed those

words.

"Ostriches with four legs!" cried Harris, with a burst of laughter.

"That would be ridiculous!"

"So," returned Dick Sand, "we have believed they were giraffes, and not

ostriches."

"No, my young friend, no," said Harris. "You have certainly seen badly.

That is explained by the rapidity with which those animals have flown

away. Besides, it has happened more than once that hunters have been

deceived like you, and in the best faith in the world."

What the American said was very plausible. Between an ostrich of great

height and a giraffe of medium height, seen at a certain distance, it

is easy to make a mistake. If it were a question of a beak or a nose,

both are none the less joined to the end of a long neck turned

backward, and, strictly speaking, it may be said that an ostrich is

only a half giraffe. It only needs the hind legs. Then, this biped and

this quadruped, passing rapidly, on a sudden may, very properly, be

taken one for the other.

Besides, the best proof that Mrs. Weldon and the others were mistaken

was that there are no giraffes in America.

Dick Sand then made this reflection:

"But I believed that ostriches were not met with in the New World any

more than giraffes."

"Yes, my young friend," replied Harris; "and, indeed, South America

possesses a peculiar species. To this species belongs the 'nandon,'

which you have just seen."

Harris spoke the truth. The "nandon" is a long-legged bird, rather

common in the plains of South America, and its flesh, when it is young,

is good to eat.

This strong animal, whose height sometimes exceeds two meters, has a

straight beak; wings long, and formed of tufted feathers of a bluish

shade; feet formed of three claws, furnished with nails--which

essentially distinguishes it from the ostriches of Africa.

These very exact details were given by Harris, who appeared to be very

strongly posted on the manners of the "nandons."

Mrs. Weldon and her companions were obliged to acknowledge that they

had been deceived.

"Besides," added Harris, "possibly we may encounter another band of

these ostriches. Well, next time look better, and no longer allow

yourselves to takes birds for quadrupeds! But above all, my young

friend, do not forget my recommendations, and do not fire on any animal

whatsoever. We have no need of hunting to procure food, and no

detonation of a fire-arm must announce our presence in this forest."

Meanwhile Dick Sand remained pensive. Once more a doubt had just arisen

on his mind.

The next day, April 17th, the march was continued, and the American

affirmed that twenty-four hours would not pass before the little troop

should be installed at the Farm of San Felice.

"There, Mrs. Weldon," added he, "you will receive all the care

necessary to your position, and a few days' rest will quite restore

you. Perhaps you will not find at this farm the luxury to which you are

accustomed in your residence in San Francisco, but you will see that

our improved lands in the interior do not lack what is comfortable. We

are not absolutely savages."

"Mr. Harris," replied Mrs. Weldon, "if we have only thanks to offer you

for your generous resort, at least we shall offer them to you with all

our hearts. Yes! It is time for us to arrive there!"

"You are very much fatigued, Mrs. Weldon?"

"I, no matter!" replied Mrs. Weldon; "but I perceive that my little

Jack is gradually becoming exhausted! The fever begins to affect him at

certain hours!"

"Yes," replied Harris, "and although the climate of this plateau is

very healthful, it must be acknowledged that in March and April

intermittent fevers reign."

"Doubtless," then said Dick Sand, "but also Nature, who is always and

everywhere provident, has put the remedy near the evil!"

"And how is that, my young friend?" asked Harris, who did not seem to

understand.

"Are we not, then, in the region of the quinquinas?" replied Dick Sand.

"In fact," said Harris, "you are perfectly right. The trees which

furnish, the precious febrifuge bark are native here."

"I am even astonished," added Dick Sand, "that we have not yet seen a

single one."

"Ah! my young friend," replied Harris, "those trees are not easy to

distinguish. Though they are often of great height, though their leaves

are large, their flowers rosy and odoriferous, we do not discover them

easily. It is rarely that they grow in groups. They are rather

scattered through the forests, and the Indians who collect the

quinquina can only recognize them by their foliage, always green."

"Mr. Harris," said Mrs. Weldon, "if you see one of those trees you will

show it to me."

"Certainly, Mrs. Weldon, but at the farm you will find some sulphate of

quinine. That is worth still more to break the fever than the simple

bark of the tree."

Formerly, this bark was only reduced to powder, which bore the name of

"Jesuits' Powder," because, in 1649, the Jesuits of Rome received a

considerable quantity from their mission in America.

This last day of the journey passed without other incident. Evening

came and the halt was organized for the whole night as usual. Till then

it had not rained, but the weather was preparing to change, for a warm

mist rose from the soil and soon found a thick fog.

They were touching, in fact, on the rainy season. Fortunately, the next

day, a comfortable shelter would be hospitably offered to the little

troop. There were only a few hours to elapse.

Though, according to Harris, who could only establish his calculation

by the time which the journey had lasted, they could not be more than

six miles from the farm, the ordinary precautions were taken for the

night. Tom and his companions would watch one after the other. Dick

Sand insisted that nothing should be neglected in that respect. Less

than ever, would he depart from his habitual prudence, for a terrible

suspicion was incrusted in his mind; but he did not wish to say

anything yet.

The retiring to rest had been made at the feet of a group of large

trees. Fatigue aiding, Mrs. Weldon and hers were already asleep, when

they were awakened by a great cry.

"Eh! what's the matter?" asked Dick Sand, quickly, who was on his feet

first of all.

"It is I! it is I who have cried!" replied Cousin Benedict.

"And what is the matter with you?" asked Mrs. Weldon.

"I have just been bit!"

"By a serpent?" asked Mrs. Weldon, with alarm.

"No, no! It was not a serpent, but an insect," replied Cousin Benedict.

"Ah! I have it! I have it!"

"Well, crush your insect," said Harris, "and let us sleep, Mr.

Benedict!"

"Crush an insect!" cried Cousin Benedict. "Not so! I must see what it

is!"

"Some mosquito!" said Harris, shrugging his shoulders.

"No! It is a fly," replied Cousin Benedict, "and a fly which ought to

be very curious!"

Dick Sand had lit a little portable lantern, and he approached Cousin

Benedict.

"Divine goodness!" cried the latter. "Behold what consoles me for all

my deceptions! I have, then, at last made a discovery!"

The honest man was raving. He looked at his fly in triumph. He would

willingly kiss it.

"But what is it, then?" asked Mrs. Weldon.

"A dipter, cousin, a famous dipter!" And Cousin Benedict showed a fly

smaller than a bee, of a dull color, streaked with yellow on the lower

part of its body.

"And this fly is not venomous?" asked Mrs. Weldon.

"No, cousin, no; at least not for man. But for animals, for antelopes,

for buffaloes, even for elephants, it is another thing. Ah! adorable

insect!"

"At last," asked Dick Sand, "will you tell us, Mr. Benedict, what is

this fly?"

"This fly," replied the entomologist, "this fly that I hold between my

fingers, this fly--it is a tsetse! It is that famous dipter that is

the honor of a country, and, till now, no one has ever found a tsetse

in America!"

Dick Sand did not dare to ask Cousin Benedict in what part of the world

this redoubtable tsetse was only to be met. And when his companions,

after this incident, had returned to their interrupted sleep, Dick

Sand, in spite of the fatigue which overwhelmed him, did not close his

eyes the whole night.

*       *       *       *       *

CHAPTER XVIII - THE TERRIBLE WORD.

It was time to arrive. Extreme lassitude made it impossible for Mrs.

Weldon to continue any longer a journey made under such painful

conditions. Her little boy, crimson during the fits of fever, very pale

during the intermissions, was pitiable to see. His mother extremely

anxious, had not been willing to leave Jack even in the care of the

good Nan. She held him, half-lying, in her arms.

Yes, it was time to arrive. But, to trust to the American, on the very

evening of this day which was breaking--the evening of the 18th of

April, the little troop should finally reach the shelter of the

"hacienda" of San Felice.

Twelve days' journey for a woman, twelve nights passed in the open air;

it was enough to overwhelm Mrs. Weldon, energetic as she was. But, for

a child, it was worse, and the sight of little Jack sick, and without

the most ordinary cares, had sufficed to crush her.

Dick Sand, Nan, Tom, and his companions had supported the fatigues of

the journey better.

Their provisions, although they were commencing to get exhausted, had

not become injured, and their condition was satisfactory.

As for Harris, he seemed made for the difficulties of these long

journeys across the forests, and it did not appear that fatigue could

affect him. Only, in proportion as he neared the farm, Dick Sand

observed that he was more preoccupied and less frank in behavior than

before. The contrary would have been more natural. This was, at least,

the opinion of the young novice, who had now become more than

suspicious of the American. And meanwhile, what interest could Harris

have in deceiving them? Dick Sand could not have explained it, but he

watched their guide more closely.

The American probably felt himself suspected by Dick Sand, and, no

doubt, it was this mistrust which made him still more taciturn with

"his young friend."

The march had been resumed.

In the forest, less thick, the trees were scattered in groups, and no

longer formed impenetrable masses. Was it, then, the true pampas of

which Harris had spoken?

During the first hours of the day, no accident happened to aggravate

the anxieties that Dick Sand felt. Only two facts were observed by him.

Perhaps they were not very important, but in these actual junctures, no

detail could be neglected.

It was the behavior of Dingo which, above all, attracted more

especially the young man's attention.

In fact the dog, which, during all this journey, had seemed to be

following a scent, became quite different, and that almost suddenly.

Until then, his nose to the ground, generally smelling the herbs or the

shrubs, he either kept quiet, or he made a sort of sad, barking noise,

like an expression of grief or of regret.

Now, on this day, the barking of the singular animal became like

bursts, sometimes furious, such as they formerly were when Negoro

appeared on the deck of the "Pilgrim." A suspicion crossed suddenly

Dick Sand's mind, and it was confirmed by Tom, who said to him:

"How very singular, Mr. Dick! Dingo no longer smells the ground as he

did yesterday! His nose is in the air, he is agitated, his hair stands

up! One would think he scented in the distance----"

"Negoro, is it not so?" replied Dick Sand, who seized the old black's

arm, and signed to him to speak in a low voice.

"Negoro, Mr. Dick! May it not be that he has followed our steps?"

"Yes, Tom; and that at this moment even he may not be very far from us."

"But why?" said Tom.

"Either Negoro does not know this country," went on Dick Sand, "and

then he would have every interest in not losing sight of us----"

"Or?" said Tom, who anxiously regarded the novice.

"Or," replied Dick Sand, "he does know it, and then he----"

"But how should Negoro know this country? He has never come here!"

"Has he never been here?" murmured Dick Sand.

"It is an incontestable fact that Dingo acts as if this man whom he

detests were near us!"

Then, interrupting himself to call the dog, which, after some

hesitation, came to him:

"Eh!" said he; "Negoro! Negoro!"

A furious barking was Dingo's reply. This name had its usual effect

upon him, and he darted forward, as if Negoro had been hidden behind

some thicket.

Harris had witnessed all this scene. With his lips a little drawn, he

approached the novice.

"What did you ask Dingo then?" said he.

"Oh, not much, Mr. Harris," replied old Tom, jokingly. "We asked him

for news of the ship-companion whom we have lost!"

"Ah!" said the American, "the Portuguese, the ship's cook of whom you

have already spoken to me?"

"Yes." replied Tom. "One would say, to hear Dingo, that Negoro is in

the vicinity."

"How could he get as far as this?" replied Harris.

"He never was in this country that I know of; at least, he concealed it

from us," replied Tom.

"It would be astonishing," said Harris. "But, if you wish, we will beat

these thickets. It is possible that this poor devil has need of help;

that he is in distress."

"It is useless, Mr. Harris," replied Dick Sand. "If Negoro has known

how to come as far as this, he will know how to go farther. He is a man

to keep out of trouble."

"As you please," replied Harris.

"Let us go. Dingo, be quiet," added Dick Sand, briefly, so as to end

the conversation.

The second observation made by the novice was in connection with the

American horse. He did not appear to "feel the stable," as do animals

of his species. He did not suck in the air; he did not hasten his

speed; he did not dilate his nostrils; he uttered none of the neighings

that indicate the end of a journey. To observe him well, he appeared to

be as indifferent as if the farm, to which he had gone several times,

however, and which he ought to know, had been several hundreds of miles

away.

"That is not a horse near home," thought the young novice.

And, meanwhile, according to what Harris had said the evening before,

there only remained six miles to go, and, of these last six miles, at

five o'clock in the evening four had been certainly cleared.

Now, if the horse felt nothing of the stable, of which he should have

great need, nothing besides announced the approaches to a great

clearing, such as the Farm of San Felice must be.

Mrs. Weldon, indifferent as she then was to what did not concern her

child, was struck at seeing the country still so desolate. What! not a

native, not a farm-servant, at such a short distance! Harris must be

wild! No! she repulsed this idea. A new delay would have been the death

of her little Jack!

Meanwhile, Harris always kept in advance, but he seemed to observe the

depths of the wood, and looked to the right and left, like a man who

was not sure of himself--nor of his road.

Mrs. Weldon shut her eyes so as not to see him.

After a plain a mile in extent, the forest, without being as dense as

in the west, had reappeared, and the little troop was again lost under

the great trees.

At six o'clock in the evening they had reached a thicket, which

appeared to have recently given passage to a band of powerful animals.

Dick Sand looked around him very attentively. At a distance winch far

surpassed the human height, the branches were torn off or broken. At

the same time the herbs, roughly scattered, exhibited on the soil, a

little marshy, prints of steps which could not be those of jaguars, or

cougars.

Were these, then, the "ais," or some other tardi-graves, whose feet had

thus marked the soil? But how, then, explain the break in the branches

at such a height?

Elephants might have, without doubt, left such imprints, stamped these

large traces, made a similar hole in the impenetrable underwood. But

elephants are not found in America. These enormous thick-skinned

quadrupeds are not natives of the New World. As yet, they have never

been acclimated there.

The hypothesis that elephants had passed there was absolutely

inadmissible.

However that might be, Dick Sand hardly knew how much this inexplicable

fact gave him to think about. He did not even question the American on

this point. What could he expect from a man who had tried to make him

take giraffes for ostriches? Harris would have given him some

explanation, more or less imaginative, which would not have changed the

situation.

At all events, Dick had formed his opinion of Harris. He felt in him a

traitor! He only awaited an occasion to unmask his disloyalty, to have

the right to do it, and everything told him that this opportunity was

near.

But what could be Harris's secret end? What future, then, awaited the

survivors of the "Pilgrim?" Dick Sand repeated to himself that his

responsibility had not ceased with the shipwreck. It was more than ever

necessary for him to provide for the safety of those whom the waves had

thrown on this coast! This woman, this young child, these blacks--all

his companions in misfortune--it was he alone who must save them! But,

if he could attempt anything on board ship, if he could act on the sea,

here, in the midst of the terrible trials which he foresaw, what part

could he take?

Dick Sand would not shut his eyes before the frightful reality that

each instant made more indisputable. In this juncture he again became

the captain of fifteen years, as he had been on the "Pilgrim." But he

would not say anything which could alarm the poor mother before the

moment for action had arrived.

And he said nothing, not even when, arrived on the bank of a rather

large stream, preceding the little troop about one hundred feet, he

perceived enormous animals, which threw themselves under the large

plants on the brink.

"Hippopotami! hippopotami!" he was going to exclaim.

And they were, indeed, these thick-skinned animals, with a big head, a

large, swollen snout, a mouth armed with teeth which extend a foot

beyond it--animals which are squat on their short limbs, the skin of

which, unprovided with hair, is of a tawny red. Hippopotami in America!

They continued to march during the whole day, but painfully. Fatigue

commenced to retard even the most robust. It was truly time to arrive,

or they would be forced to stop.

Mrs. Weldon, wholly occupied with her little Jack, did not perhaps feel

the fatigue, but her strength was exhausted. All, more or less, were

tired. Dick Sand, resisted by a supreme moral energy, caused by the

sentiment of duty.

Toward four o'clock in the evening, old Tom found, in the grass, an

object which attracted his attention. It was an arm, a kind of knife,

of a particular shape, formed of a large, curved blade, set in a

square, ivory handle, rather roughly ornamented. Tom carried this knife

to Dick Sand, who took it, examined it, and, finally, showed it to the

American, saying:

"No doubt the natives are not very far off."

"That is so," replied Harris, "and meanwhile----"

"Meanwhile?" repeated Dick Sand, who now steadily looked Harris in the

face.

"We should be very near the farm," replied Harris, hesitating, "and I

do not recognize----"

"You are then astray?" quickly asked Dick Sand.

"Astray! no. The farm cannot be more than three miles away, now. But, I

wished to take the shortest road through the forest, and perhaps I have

made a little mistake!"

"Perhaps," replied Dick Sand.

"I would do well, I think, to go in advance," said Harris.

"No, Mr. Harris, we will not separate," replied Dick Sand, in a decided

tone.

"As you will," replied the American. "But, during the night, it will be

difficult for me to guide you."

"Never mind that!" replied Dick Sand. "We are going to halt. Mrs.

Weldon will consent to pass a last night under the trees, and

to-morrow, when it is broad daylight, we will proceed on our journey!

Two or three miles still, that will be an hour's walk!"

"Be it so," replied Harris.

At that moment Dingo commenced to bark furiously.

"Here, Dingo, here!" cried Dick Sand. "You know well that no one is

there, and that we are in the desert!"

This last halt was then decided upon.

Mrs. Weldon let her companions work without saying a word. Her little

Jack was sleeping in her arms, made drowsy by the fever.

They sought the best place to pass the night. This was under a large

bunch of trees, where Dick Sand thought of disposing all for their

rest. But old Tom, who was helping him in these preparations, stopped

suddenly, crying out:

"Mr. Dick! look! look!"

"What is it, old Tom?" asked Dick Sand, in the calm tone of a man who

attends to everything.

"There--there!" cried Tom; "on those trees--blood stains!--and--on the

ground--mutilated limbs!"

Dick Sand rushed toward the spot indicated by old Tom. Then, returning

to him: "Silence, Tom, silence!" said he.

In fact, there on the ground were hands cut off, and above these human

remains were several broken forks, and a chain in pieces!

Happily, Mrs. Weldon had seen nothing of this horrible spectacle.

As for Harris, he kept at a distance, and any one observing him at this

moment would have been struck at the change made in him. His face had

something ferocious in it.

Dingo had rejoined Dick Sand, and before these bloody remains, he

barked with rage.

The novice had hard work to drive him away.

Meanwhile, old Tom, at the sight of these forks, of this broken chain,

had remained motionless, as if his feet were rooted in the soil. His

eyes were wide open, his hands clenched; he stared, murmuring these

incoherent words:

"I have seen--already seen--these forks--when little--I have seen!"

And no doubt the memories of his early infancy returned to him vaguely.

He tried to recall them. He was going to speak.

"Be silent, Tom!" repeated Dick Sand. "For Mrs. Weldon's sake, for all

our sakes, be silent!"

And the novice led the old black away.

Another halting place was chosen, at some distance, and all was

arranged for the night.

The repast was prepared, but they hardly touched it. Fatigue took away

their hunger. All were under an indefinable impression of anxiety which

bordered on terror.

Darkness came gradually: soon it was profound. The sky was covered with

great stormy clouds. Between the trees in the western horizon they saw

some flashes of heat lightning. The wind had fallen; not a leaf moved

on the trees. An absolute silence succeeded the noises of the day, and

it might be believed that the heavy atmosphere, saturated with

electricity, was becoming unfit for the transmission of sounds.

Dick Sand, Austin, and Bat watched together. They tried to see, to

hear, during this very dark night, if any light whatsoever, or any

suspicious noise should strike their eyes or their ears. Nothing

troubled either the calm or the obscurity of the forest.

Torn, not sleepy, but absorbed in his remembrances, his head bent,

remained quiet, as if he had been struck by some sudden blow.

Mrs. Weldon rocked her child in her arms, and only thought of him.

Only Cousin Benedict slept, perhaps, for he alone did not suffer from

the common impression. His faculty for looking forward did not go so

far.

Suddenly, about eleven o'clock, a prolonged and grave roaring was

heard, with which was mingled a sort of sharper shuddering. Tom stood

up and stretched out his hand toward a dense thicket, a mile or more

distant.

Dick Sand seized his arm, but he could not prevent Tom from crying in a

loud voice: "The lion! the lion!"

This roaring, which he had so often heard in his infancy, the old black

had just recognized it.

"The lion!" he repeated.

Dick Sand, incapable of controlling himself longer, rushed, cutlass in

hand, to the place occupied by Harris.

Harris was no longer there, and his horse had disappeared with him.

A sort of revelation took place in Dick Sand's mind. He was not where

he had believed he was!

So it was not on the American coast that the "Pilgrim" had gone ashore!

It was not the Isle of Paques, whose bearing the novice had taken at

sea, but some other island situated exactly to the west of this

continent, as the Isle of Paques is situated to the west of America.

The compass had deceived him during a part of the voyage, we know why!

Led away by the tempest over a false route, he must have doubled Cape

Horn, and from the Pacific Ocean he had passed into the Atlantic! The

speed of his ship, which he could only imperfectly estimate, had been

doubled, unknown to him, by the force of the hurricane!

Behold why the caoutchouc trees, the quinquinas, the products of South

America were missing in this country, which was neither the plateau of

Atacama nor the Bolivian pampa!

Yes, they were giraffes, not ostriches, which had fled away in the

opening! They were elephants that had crossed the thick underwood! They

were hippopotami whose repose Dick Sand had troubled under the large

plants! It was the tsetse, that dipter picked up by Benedict, the

formidable tsetse under whose stings the animals of the caravans

perish!

Finally, it was, indeed, the roaring of the lion that had just sounded

through the forest! And those forks, those chains, that knife of

singular form, they were the tools of the slave-trader! Those mutilated

hands, they were the hands of captives!

The Portuguese Negoro, and the American Harris, must be in collusion!

And those terrible words guessed by Dick Sand, finally escaped his lips:

"Africa! Equatorial Africa! Africa of the slave-trade and the slaves!"

End of Part I

PART II

*       *       *       *       *

CHAPTER I - THE SLAVE TRADE.

The slave trade! Nobody is ignorant of the significance of this

word, which should never have found a place in human language. This

abominable traffic, for a long time practised to the profit of the

European nations which possessed colonies beyond the sea, has been

already forbidden for many years. Meanwhile it is always going on

a large scale, and principally in Central Africa. Even in this

nineteenth century the signature of a few States, calling themselves

Christians, are still missing from the Act for the Abolition of

Slavery.

We might believe that the trade is no longer carried on; that this

buying and this selling of human creatures has ceased: it is not so,

and that is what the reader must know if he wishes to become more

deeply interested in the second part of this history. He must learn

what these men-hunts actually are still, these hunts which threaten

to depopulate a whole continent for the maintenance of a few slave

colonies; where and how these barbarous captures are executed; how

much blood they cost; how they provoke incendiarism and pillage;

finally, for whose profit they are made.

It is in the fifteenth century only that we see the trade in blacks

carried on for the first time. Behold under what circumstances it was

established:

The Mussulmans, after being expelled from Spain, took refuge beyond

the Strait on the coast of Africa. The Portuguese, who then occupied

that part of the coast, pursued them with fury. A certain number of

those fugitives were made prisoners and brought back to Portugal.

Reduced to slavery, they constituted the first nucleus of African

slaves which has been formed in Western Europe since the Christian

Era.

But those Mussulmans belonged, for the most part, to rich families,

who wished to buy them back for gold. The Portuguese refused to accept

a ransom, however large it might be. They had only to make foreign

gold. What they lacked were the arms so indispensable then for the

work of the growing colonies, and, to say it all, the arms of the

slave.

The Mussulman families, being unable to buy back their captive

relatives, then offered to exchange them for a much larger number of

black Africans, whom it was only too easy to carry off. The offer

was accepted by the Portuguese, who found that exchange to their

advantage, and thus the slave trade was founded in Europe.

Toward the end of the sixteenth century this odious traffic was

generally admitted, and it was not repugnant to the still barbarous

manners. All the States protected it so as to colonize more rapidly

and more surely the isles of the New World. In fact, the slaves of

black origin could resist the climate, where the badly acclimated

whites, still unfit to support the heat of intertropical climates,

would have perished by thousands. The transport of negroes to the

American colonies was then carried on regularly by special vessels,

and this branch of transatlantic commerce led to the creation of

important stations on different points of the African coast. The

"merchandise" cost little in the country of production, and the

returns were considerable.

But, necessary as was the foundation of the colonies beyond the sea

from all points of view, it could not justify those markets for human

flesh. Generous voices soon made themselves heard, which protested

against the trade in blacks, and demanded from the European

governments a decree of abolition in the name of the principles of

humanity.

In 1751, the Quakers put themselves at the head of the abolition

movement, even in the heart of that North America where, a hundred

years later, the War of Secession was to burst forth, to which this

question of slavery was not a foreign one. Different States in the

North--Virginia, Connecticut, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania--decreed the

abolition of the slave trade, and freed the slaves brought to their

territories at great expense.

But the campaign commenced by the Quakers did not limit itself to the

northern provinces of the New World. Slaveholders were warmly attacked

beyond the Atlantic. France and England, more particularly, recruited

partisans for this just cause. "Let the colonies perish rather than a

principle!" Such was the generous command which resounded through all

the Old World, and, in spite of the great political and commercial

interests engaged in the question, it was effectively transmitted

through Europe.

The impetus was given. In 1807, England abolished the slave-trade

in her colonies, and France followed her example in 1814. The two

powerful nations exchanged a treaty on this subject--a treaty

confirmed by Napoleon during the Hundred Days.

However, that was as yet only a purely theoretical declaration. The

slave-ships did not cease to cross the seas, and to dispose of their

"ebony cargoes" in colonial ports.

More practical measures must be taken in order to put an end to this

commerce. The United States, in 1820, and England, in 1824, declared

the slave trade an act of piracy, and those who practised it pirates.

As such, they drew on themselves the penalty of death, and they were

pursued to the end. France soon adhered to the new treaty; but the

States of South America, and the Spanish and Portuguese colonies,

did not join in the Act of Abolition. The exportation of blacks

then continued to their profit, notwithstanding the right of search

generally recognized, which was limited to the verification of the

flag of suspicious vessels.

Meanwhile, the new Law of Abolition had not a retroactive effect. No

more new slaves were made, but the old ones had not yet recovered

their liberty.

It was under those circumstances that England set an example. In May,

1833, a general declaration emancipated all the blacks in the colonies

of Great Britain, and in August, 1838, six hundred and seventy

thousand slaves were declared free.

Ten years later, in 1848, the Republic emancipated the slaves of the

French colonies, say about two hundred and sixty thousand blacks. In

1861, the war which broke out between the Federals and Confederates,

of the United States, finishing the work of emancipation, extended it

to all North America.

The three great powers had then accomplished this work of humanity. At

the present hour, the trade is no longer carried on, except for the

benefit of the Spanish and Portuguese colonies, and to satisfy the

wants of the populations of the Orient, Turks, or Arabs. Brazil, if

she has not yet restored her old slaves to liberty, at least no longer

receives new ones, and the children of the blacks are born free there.

It is in the interior of Africa, in the prosecution of those bloody

wars, waged by the African chiefs among themselves for this man-hunt,

that entire tribes are reduced to slavery. Two opposite directions are

then given to the caravans: one to the west, toward the Portuguese

colony of Angola; the other to the east, on the Mozambique. Of these

unfortunate beings, of whom only a small portion arrive at their

destination, some are exported, it may be to Cuba, it may be to

Madagascar; others to the Arab or Turkish provinces of Asia, to Mecca,

or to Muscat. The English and French cruisers can only prevent

this traffic to a small extent, as it is so difficult to obtain an

effective surveillance over such far-extended coasts.

But the figures of these odious exportations, are they still

considerable?

Yes! The number of slaves who arrive at the coast is estimated at

not less than eighty thousand; and this number, it appears, only

represents the tenth of natives massacred.

After these dreadful butcheries the devastated fields are deserted,

the burnt villages are without inhabitants, the rivers carry down dead

bodies, deer occupy the country. Livingstone, the day after one of

these men-hunts, no longer recognized the provinces he had visited

a few months before. All the other travelers--Grant, Speke, Burton,

Cameron, and Stanley--do not speak otherwise of this wooded plateau of

Central Africa, the principal theater of the wars between the chiefs.

In the region of the great lakes, over all that vast country which

feeds the market of Zanzibar, in Bornou and Fezzan, farther south,

on the banks of the Nyassa and the Zambesi, farther west, in the

districts of the upper Zaire, which the daring Stanley has just

crossed, is seen the same spectacle--ruins, massacres, depopulation.

Then will slavery in Africa only end with the disappearance of the

black race; and will it be with this race as it is with the Australian

race, or the race in New Holland?

But the market of the Spanish and Portuguese colonies will close some

day. That outlet will be wanting. Civilized nations can no longer

tolerate the slave trade!

Yes, without doubt; and this year even, 1878, ought to see the

enfranchisement of all the slaves still possessed by Christian States.

However, for long years to come the Mussulman nations will maintain

this traffic, which depopulates the African continent. It is for them,

in fact, that the most important emigration of the blacks is made, as

the number of natives snatched from their provinces and brought to

the eastern coast annually exceeds forty thousand. Long before the

expedition to Egypt the negroes of the Seunaar were sold by thousands

to the negroes of the Darfour, and reciprocally. General Bonaparte was

able to buy a pretty large number of these blacks, of whom he made

organized soldiers, like the Mamelukes. Since then, during this

century, of which four-fifths have now passed away, commerce in slaves

has not diminished in Africa. On the contrary.

And, in fact, Islamism is favorable to the slave trade. The black

slave must replace the white slave of former times, in Turkish

provinces. So contractors of every origin pursue this execrable

traffic on a large scale. They thus carry a supplement of population

to those races, which are dying out and will disappear some day,

because they do not regenerate themselves by labor. These slaves, as

in the time of Bonaparte, often become soldiers. With certain nations

of the upper Niger, they compose the half of the armies of the African

chiefs. Under these circumstances, their fate is not sensibly inferior

to that of free men. Besides, when the slave is not a soldier, he is

money which has circulation; even in Egypt and at Bornou, officers and

functionaries are paid in that money. William Lejean has seen it and

has told of it.

Such is, then, the actual state of the trade.

Must it be added that a number of agents of the great European powers

are not ashamed to show a deplorable indulgence for this commerce.

Nevertheless, nothing is truer; while the cruisers watch the coasts of

the Atlantic and the Indian Oceans, the traffic goes on regularly

in the interior, the caravans walk on under the eyes of certain

functionaries, and massacres, where ten blacks perish to furnish one

slave, take place at stated periods!

So it will now be understood how terrible were those words just

pronounced by Dick Sand.

"Africa! Equatorial Africa! Africa of slave-traders and slaves!"

And he was not deceived; it was Africa with all its dangers, for his

companions and for himself.

But on what part of the African continent had an inexplicable fatality

landed him? Evidently on the western coast, and as an aggravating

circumstance, the young novice was forced to think that the "Pilgrim"

was thrown on precisely that part of the coast of Angola where the

caravans, which clear all that part of Africa, arrive.

In fact it was there. It was that country which Cameron on the south

and Stanley on the north were going to cross a few years later, and at

the price of what efforts! Of this vast territory, which is composed

of three provinces, Benguela, Congo, and Angola, there was but little

known then except the coast. It extends from the Nourse, in the south,

as far as the Zaire in the north, and the two principal towns form two

ports, Benguela and St. Paul' de Loanda, the capital of the colony

which set off from the kingdom of Portugal.

In the interior this country was then almost unknown. Few travelers

had dared to venture there. A pernicious climate, warm and damp lands,

which engender fevers, barbarous natives, some of whom are still

cannibals, a permanent state of war between tribes, the slave-traders'

suspicion of every stranger who seeks to discover the secrets of their

infamous commerce; such are the difficulties to surmount, the dangers

to overcome in this province of Angola, one of the most dangerous of

equatorial Africa.

Tuckey, in 1816, had ascended the Congo beyond the Yellala Falls;

but over an extent of two hundred miles at the most. This simple

halting-place could not give a definite knowledge of the country,

and nevertheless, it had caused the death of the greater part of the

savants and officers who composed the expedition. Thirty-seven years

later, Dr. Livingstone had advanced from the Cape of Good Hope as

far as the upper Zambesi. Thence, in the month of November, with a

hardihood which has never been surpassed, he traversed Africa from the

south to the northwest, cleared the Coango, one of the branches of the

Congo, and on the 31st of May, 1854, arrived at St. Paul de Loanda. It

was the first view in the unknown of the great Portuguese Colony.

Eighteen years after, two daring discoverers crossed Africa from the

east to the west, and arrived, one south, the other north, of Angola,

after unheard-of difficulties.

The first, according to the date, was a lieutenant in the English

navy, Verney-Howet Cameron. In 1872, there was reason to fear that the

expedition of the American, Stanley, was in great danger. It had been

sent to the great lake region in search of Livingstone. Lieutenant

Cameron offered to go over the same road.

The offer was accepted. Cameron, accompanied by Dr. Dillon, Lieutenant

Cecil Murphy and Robert Moffat, a nephew of Livingstone, started from

Zanzibar. After having crossed Ougogo, he met Livingstone's faithful

servants carrying their master's body to the eastern coast. He

continued his route to the west, with the unconquerable desire to pass

from one coast to the other.

He crossed Ounyanyembe, Ougounda, and Kahouele, where he collected

the great traveler's papers. Having passed over Tanganyika, and the

Bambarre mountains, he reached Loualaba, but could not descend its

course. After having visited all the provinces devastated by war and

depopulated by the slave trade, Kilemmba, Ouroua, the sources of the

Lomane, Oulouda, Lovale, and having crossed the Coanza and the

immense forests in which Harris has just entrapped Dick Sand and his

companions, the energetic Cameron finally perceived the Atlantic Ocean

and arrived at Saint Philip of Benguela. This journey of three years

and four months had cost the lives of his two companions, Dr. Dillon

and Robert Moffat.

Henry Moreland Stanley, the American, almost immediately succeeded the

Englishman, Cameron, on the road of discoveries. We know that this

intrepid correspondent of the New York Herald, sent in search of

Livingstone, had found him on October 30th, 1871, at Oujiji, on Lake

Tanganyika. Having so happily accomplished his object for the sake of

humanity, Stanley determined to pursue his journey in the interest of

geographical science. His object then was to gain a complete knowledge

of Loualaba, of which he had only had a glimpse.

Cameron was then lost in the provinces of Central Africa, when, in

November, 1874, Stanley quitted Bagamoga, on the eastern coast.

Twenty-one months after, August 24th, 1876, he abandoned Oujiji, which

was decimated by an epidemic of smallpox. In seventy-four days he

effected the passage of the lake at N'yangwe, a great slave market,

which had been already visited by Livingstone and Cameron. Here he

witnessed the most horrible scenes, practised in the Maroungou and

Manyouema countries by the officers of the Sultan of Zanzibar.

Stanley then took measures to explore the course of the Loualaba and

to descend it as far as its mouth. One hundred and forty bearers,

engaged at N'yangwe, and nineteen boats, formed the material and the

force of his expedition.

From the very start he had to fight the cannibals of Ougouson. From

the start, also, he had to attend to the carrying of boats, so as to

pass insuperable cataracts.

Under the equator, at the point where the Loualaba makes a bend to

the northeast, fifty-four boats, manned by several hundred natives,

attacked Stanley's little fleet, which succeeded in putting them to

flight. Then the courageous American, reascending as far as the second

degree of northern latitude, ascertained that the Loualaba was the

upper Zaire, or Congo, and that by following its course he could

descend directly to the sea.

This he did, fighting nearly every day against the tribes that lived

near the river. On June 3d, 1877, at the passage of the cataracts of

Massassa, he lost one of his companions, Francis Pocock. July 18th he

was drawn with his boat into the falls of M'belo, and only escaped

death by a miracle.

Finally, August 6th, Henry Stanley arrived at the village of Ni-Sanda,

four days' journey from the coast.

Two days after, at Banza-M'bouko, he found the provisions sent by two

merchants from Emboma.

He finally rested at this little coast town, aged, at thirty-five

years, by over-fatigue and privations, after an entire passage of the

African continent, which had taken two years and nine months of his

life.

However, the course of the Loualaba was explored as far as the

Atlantic; and if the Nile is the great artery of the North, if the

Zambesi is the great artery of the East, we now know that Africa still

possesses in the West the third of the largest rivers in the world--a

river which, in a course of two thousand, nine hundred miles, under

the names of Loualaba, Zaire, and Congo, unites the lake region with

the Atlantic Ocean.

However, between these two books of travel--Stanley's and

Cameron's--the province of Angola is somewhat better known in this

year than in 1873, at that period when the "Pilgrim" was lost on the

African coast. It was well known that it was the seat of the western

slave-trade, thanks to its important markets of Bihe, Cassange, and

Kazounde.

It was into this country that Dick Sand had been drawn, more than one

hundred miles from the coast, with a woman exhausted by fatigue and

grief, a dying child, and some companions of African descent, the

prey, as everything indicated, to the rapacity of slave merchants.

Yes, it was Africa, and not that America where neither the natives,

nor the deer, nor the climate are very formidable. It was not that

favorable region, situated between the Cordilleras and the coast,

where straggling villages abound, and where missions are hospitably

opened to all travelers.

They were far away, those provinces of Peru and Bolivia, where the

tempest would have surely carried the "Pilgrim," if a criminal hand

had not changed its course, where the shipwrecked ones would have

found so many facilities for returning to their country.

It was the terrible Angola, not even that part of the coast inspected

by the Portuguese authorities, but the interior of the colony, which

is crossed by caravans of slaves under the whip of the driver.

What did Dick Sand know of this country where treason had thrown him?

Very little; what the missionaries of the sixteenth and seventeenth

centuries had said of it; what the Portuguese merchants, who

frequented the road from St. Paul de Loanda to the Zaïre, by way of

San Salvador, knew of it; what Dr. Livingstone had written about it,

after his journey of 1853, and that would have been sufficient to

overwhelm a soul less strong than his.

Truly, the situation was terrible.

CHAPTER II - HARRIS AND NEGORO.

The day after that on which Dick Sand and his companions had

established their last halt in the forest, two men met together about

three miles from there, as it had been previously arranged between

them.

These two men were Harris and Negoro; and we are going to see now what

chance had brought together, on the coast of Angola, the Portuguese

come from New Zealand, and the American, whom the business of trader

obliged to often traverse this province of Western Africa.

Harris and Negoro were seated at the foot of an enormous banyan, on

the steep bank of an impetuous stream, which ran between a double

hedge of papyrus.

The conversation commenced, for the Portuguese and the American

had just met, and at first they dwelt on the deeds which had been

accomplished during these last hours.

"And so, Harris," said Negoro, "you have not been able to draw this

little troop of Captain Sand, as they call this novice of fifteen

years, any farther into Angola?"

"No, comrade," replied Harris; "and it is even astonishing that I have

succeeded in leading him a hundred miles at least from the coast.

Several days ago my young friend, Dick Sand, looked at me with an

anxious air, his suspicions gradually changed into certainties--and

faith--"

"Another hundred miles, Harris, and those people would be still more

surely in our hands! However, they must not escape us!"

"Ah! How could they?" replied Harris, shrugging his shoulders. "I

repeat it, Negoro, there was only time to part company with them. Ten

times have I read in my young friend's eyes that he was tempted to

send a ball into my breast, and I have too bad a stomach to digest

those prunes which weigh a dozen to the pound."

"Good!" returned Negoro; "I also have an account to settle with this

novice."

"And you shall settle it at your ease, with interest, comrade. As to

me, during the first three days of the journey I succeeded very well

in making him take this province for the Desert of Atacama, which

I visited formerly. But the child claimed his caoutchoucs and his

humming-birds. The mother demanded her quinquinas. The cousin was

crazy to find cocuyos. Faith, I was at the end of my imagination,

and after with great difficulty making them swallow ostriches for

giraffes--a god-send, indeed, Negoro!--I no longer knew what to

invent. Besides, I well saw that my young friend no longer accepted my

explanations. Then we fell on elephants' prints. The hippopotami were

added to the party. And you know, Negoro, hippopotami and elephants

in America are like honest men in the penitentiaries of Benguela.

Finally, to finish me, there was the old black, who must find forks

and chains at the foot of a tree. Slaves had freed themselves from

them to flee. At the same moment the lion roared, starting the

company, and it is not easy to pass off that roaring for the mewing

of an inoffensive cat. I then had only time to spring on my horse and

make my way here."

"I understand," replied Negoro. "Nevertheless, I would wish to hold

them a hundred miles further in the province."'

"One does what he can, comrade," replied Harris. "As to you, who

followed our caravan from the coast, you have done well to keep your

distance. They felt you were there. There is a certain Dingo that does

not seem to love you. What have you done to that animal?"

"Nothing," replied Negoro; "but before long it will receive a ball in

the head."

"As you would have received one from Dick Sand, if you had shown ever

so little of your person within two hundred feet of his gun. Ah! how

well he fires, my young friend; and, between you and me, I am obliged

to admit that he is, in his way, a fine boy."

"No matter how fine he is, Harris, he will pay dear for his

insolence," replied Negoro, whose countenance expressed implacable

cruelty.

"Good," murmured Harris, "my comrade remains just the same as I have

always known him! Voyages have not injured him!"

Then, after a moment's silence: "Ah, there, Negoro," continued he,

"when I met you so fortunately there below, at the scene of the

shipwreck, at the mouth of the Longa, you only had time to recommend

those honest people to me, while begging me to lead them as far as

possible across this pretended Bolivia. You have not told me what you

have been doing these two years! Two years, comrade, in our chance

existence, is a long time. One fine day, after having taken charge of

a caravan of slaves on old Alvez's account--whose very humble agents

we are--you left Cassange, and have not been heard of since! I have

thought that you had some disagreement with the English cruiser, and

that you were hung!"

"I came very near it, Harris."

"That will come, Negoro."

"Thank you!"

"What would you have?" replied Harris, with an indifference quite

philosophical; "it is one of the chances of the trade! We do not carry

on the slave-trade on the coast of Africa without running the risk of

dying elsewhere than in our beds! So, you have been taken?"

"Yes!"

"By the English?"

"No! By the Portuguese."

"Before or after having delivered your cargo?" asked Harris.

"After--," replied Negoro, who had hesitated a little about replying.

"These Portuguese now make difficulties. They want no more slavery,

though they have used it so long to their profit. I was denounced

--watched. They took me--"

"And condemned--"

"Me to finish my days in the penitentiary of St. Paul de Loanda."

"A thousand devils!" exclaimed Harris. "That is an unhealthy place for

men accustomed, like us, to live in the open air. As to me, perhaps I

should prefer being hung."

"One does not escape from the gallows," replied Negoro; "but from

prison--"

"You were able to make your escape?"

"Yes, Harris. Only fifteen days after being put in prison. I was

able to hide myself at the bottom of the hold of an English steamer,

sailing for Auckland, of New Zealand. A barrel of water and a case of

conserves, between which I had intruded, furnished me with food and

drink during the whole passage. Oh! I suffered terribly, from not

being willing to show myself when we were at sea. But, if I had been

imprudent enough to do it, I would have been confined again at the

bottom of the hold, and, voluntarily or not, the torture would be the

same. Besides, on my arrival at Auckland, they would have returned me

again to the English authorities, and finally brought me back to the

penitentiary of Loanda, or, perhaps, hung me, as you said. That was

why I preferred to travel incognito."

"And without paying your passage!" exclaimed Harris, laughing. "Ah!

that is not considerate, comrade, to be fed and carried gratis!"

"Yes," returned Negoro, "but thirty days' passage at the bottom of the

hold--"

"At last that was over, Negoro. You set out for New Zealand, in the

land of the Maoris. But you have returned. Was the return made under

the same circumstances?"

"Not so, Harris. You may well believe that, over there, I had only one

idea--to return to Angola and take up my trade of slave-trader again."

"Yes," replied Harris, "one loves his trade--from habit."

"For eighteen months--"

Having pronounced those last words, Negoro stopped suddenly. He seized

his companion's arm, and listened.

"Harris," said he, lowering his voice, "was there not a trembling in

that papyrus bush?"

"Yes, indeed," replied Harris, seizing his gun, always ready to fire.

Negoro and he stood up, looked around them, and listened with the

greatest attention.

"There is nothing there," said Harris. "It is this brook, swelled by

the storm, which runs more noisily. For two years, comrade, you have

been unaccustomed to the noises of the forest, but you will get used

to them again. Continue, then, the narration of your adventures. When

I understand the past, we shall talk of the future."

Negoro and Harris sat down again at the foot of the banyan. The

Portuguese continued, in these terms:

"For eighteen months I vegetated in Auckland. When the steamer arrived

there I was able to leave it without being seen; but not a piastre,

not a dollar in my pocket! In order to live I had to follow all

trades--"

"Even the trade of an honest man, Negoro?"

"As you say, Harris."

"Poor boy!"

"Now, I was always waiting for an opportunity, which was long coming,

when the 'Pilgrim,' a whaler, arrived at the port of Auckland."

"That vessel which went ashore on the coast of Angola?"

"Even the same, Harris, and on which Mrs. Weldon, her child, and her

cousin were going to take passage. Now, as an old sailor, having even

been second on board a slave ship, I was not out of my element in

taking service on a ship. I then presented myself to the 'Pilgrim's'

captain, but the crew was made up. Very fortunately for me, the

schooner's cook had deserted. Now, he is no sailor who does not know

how to cook. I offered myself as head cook. For want of a better, I

was accepted. A few days after, the 'Pilgrim' had lost sight of the

land of New Zealand."

"But," asked Harris, "according to what my young friend has told me,

the 'Pilgrim' did not set sail at all for the coast of Africa. How

then has she arrived here?"

"Dick Sand ought not to be able to understand it yet, and perhaps he

will never understand it," replied Negoro; "but I am going to explain

to you what has passed, Harris, and you will be able to tell it again

to your young friend, if it pleases you to do so."

"How, then?" replied Harris. "Speak, comrade, speak!"

"The 'Pilgrim,'" continued Negoro, "as on the way to Valparaiso. When

I went on board, I only intended to go to Chili. It was always a good

half of the way between New Zealand and Angola, and I was drawing

nearer Africa's coast by several thousand miles. But it so happened

that only three weeks after leaving Auckland, Captain Hull, who

commanded the 'Pilgrim,' disappeared with all his crew, while chasing

a whale. On that day, then, only two sailors remained on board--the

novice and the cook, Negoro."

"And you took command of the ship?" asked Harris.

"I had that idea at first, but I saw that they distrusted me. There

were live strong blacks on board, free men. I would not have been

the master, and, on reflection, I remained what I was at the

departure--the 'Pilgrim's' cook."

"Then it was chance that led this ship to the coast of Africa?"

"No, Harris," replied Negoro; "there has been no chance in all this

adventure except meeting you, in one of your journeys, just on that

part of the coast where the 'Pilgrim' was wrecked. But as to coming

in sight of Angola, it was by my will, my secret will, that that was

done. Your young friend, still much of a novice in navigation, could

only tell his position by means of the log and the compass. Well, one

day, the log went to the bottom. One night the compass was made false,

and the 'Pilgrim,' driven by a violent tempest, took the wrong route.

The length of the voyage, inexplicable to Dick Sand, would be the same

to the most experienced seaman. Without the novice knowing or even

suspecting it, Cape Horn was doubled, but I, Harris, I recognized

it in the midst of the fogs. Then, thanks to me, the needle in the

compass took its true direction again, and the ship, blown to the

northeast by that frightful hurricane, has just been cast on the coast

of Africa, just on this land of Angola which I wished to reach."

"And even at that moment, Negoro," replied Harris, "chance had led me

there to receive you, and guide those honest people to the interior.

They believed themselves--they could only believe themselves in

America. It was easy for me to make them take this province for lower

Bolivia, to which it has really some resemblance."

"Yes, they believed it, as your young friend believed they had made

the Isle of Paques, when they passed in sight of Tristan d'Acunha."

"Anybody would be deceived by it, Negoro."

"I know it, Harris, and I even counted on profiting by that error.

Finally, behold Mrs. Weldon and her companions one hundred miles in

the interior of this Africa, where I wanted to bring them!"

"But," replied Harris, "they know now where they are."

"Ah! what matter at present!" cried Negoro.

"And what will you do with them?" asked Harris.

"What will I do with them?" replied Negoro. "Before telling you,

Harris, give me news of our master, the slave-trader, Alvez, whom I

have not seen for two years."

"Oh, the old rascal is remarkably well," replied Harris, "and he will

be enchanted to see you again."

"Is he at the Bihe market?" asked Negoro.

"No, comrade, he has been at his establishment at Kazounde for a

year."

"And business is lively?"

"Yes, a thousand devils!" exclaimed Harris, "although the slave

trade becomes more and more difficult, at least on this coast. The

Portuguese authorities on one side, and the English cruisers on

the other, limit exportations. There are few places, except in the

environs of Mossamedes, to the south of Angola, that the shipping of

blacks can now be made with any chance of success. So, at this time,

the pens are filled with slaves, waiting for the ships which ought to

carry them to Spanish colonies. As to passing them by Benguela, or

St. Paul de Loanda, that is not possible. The governors no longer

understand reason, no more do the chiefs (title given to the

Portuguese governors of secondary establishments). We must, then,

return to the factories of the interior. This is what old Alvez

intends to do. He will go from the Nyangwe and Tanganyika side to

change his stuffs for ivory and slaves. Business is always profitable

with upper Egypt and the Mozambique coast, which furnishes all

Madagascar. But I fear the time will come when the trade can be no

longer carried on. The English are making great progress in the

interior of Africa. The missionaries advance and work against us. That

Livingstone, curse him, after exploring the lake region, is going,

they say, to travel toward Angola. Then they speak of a Lieutenant

Cameron, who proposes to cross the continent from east to west. They

also fear that the American, Stanley, wishes to do as much. All these

visits will end by damaging our operations, Negoro, and if we care for

our own interests, not one of those visitors will return to relate in

Europe what he has had the indiscretion to come to see in Africa."

Would not one say, to hear them, the rascals, that they were speaking

like honest merchants whose affairs were momentarily cramped by a

commercial crisis? Who would believe that, instead of sacks of coffee

or casks of sugar, they were talking of human beings to export like

merchandise? These traders have no other idea of right or wrong. The

moral sense is entirely lacking in them, and if they had any, how

quickly they would lose it among the frightful atrocities of the

African slave trade.

But where Harris was right, was when he said that civilization was

gradually penetrating those savage countries in the wake of those

hardy travelers, whose names are indissoluble linked to the

discoveries of Equatorial Africa. At the head, David Livingstone,

after him, Grant, Speke, Burton, Cameron, Stanley, those heroes will

leave imperishable names as benefactors of humanity.

When their conversation reached that point, Harris knew what the last

two years of Negoro's life had been. The trader Alvez's old agent, the

escaped prisoner from the Loanda penitentiary, reappeared the same as

Harris had always known him, that is, ready to do anything. But what

plan Negoro intended to take in regard to the shipwrecked from the

"Pilgrim," Harris did not yet know. He asked his accomplice about it.

"And now," said he, "what are you going to do with those people?"

"I shall make two parties of them," replied Negoro, like a man whose

plan had been long formed, "those whom I shall sell as slaves, and

those whom----"

The Portuguese did not finish, but his ferocious physiognomy spoke

plainly enough.

"Which will you sell?" asked Harris.

"Those blacks who accompany Mrs. Weldon," replied Negoro. "Old Tom is

not perhaps of much value, but the others are four strong fellows, who

will bring a high price in the Kazounde market."

"I well believe it, Negoro," replied Harris. "Four negroes, well made,

accustomed to work, have very little resemblance to those brutes which

come to us from the interior. Certainly, you will sell them at a high

price. Slaves, born in America, and exported to the markets of Angola;

that is rare merchandise! But," added the American, "you have not told

me if there was any money on board the 'Pilgrim.'"

"Oh! a few hundred dollars only, which I have succeeded in saving.

Fortunately, I count on certain returns."

"Which, then, comrade?" asked Harris, with curiosity.

"Nothing!" replied Negoro, who appeared to regret having spoken more

than he intended.

"It now remains to take possession of all that high-priced

merchandise," said Harris.

"Is it, then, so difficult?" asked Negoro.

"No, comrade. Ten miles from here, on the Coanza, a caravan of slaves

is encamped, conducted by the Arab, Ibn Hamis. He only awaits my

return to take the road for Kazounde. There are more native soldiers

there than are needed to capture Dick Sand and his companions. It will

be sufficient for my young friend to conceive the idea of going to the

Coanza."

"But will he get that idea?" asked Negoro.

"Surely," replied Harris, "because he is intelligent, and cannot

suspect the danger that awaits him. Dick Sand would not think of

returning to the coast by the way we have followed together. He would

be lost among these immense forests. He will seek, then, I am sure, to

reach one of the rivers that flow toward the coast, so as to descend

it on a raft. He has no other plan to take, and I know he will take

it."

"Yes, perhaps so," replied Negoro, who was reflecting.

"It is not 'perhaps so,' it is 'assuredly so,' that must be said,"

continued Harris. "Do you see, Negoro? It is as if I had appointed a

rendezvous with my young friend on the banks of the Coanza."

"Well, then," replied Negoro, "let us go. I know Dick Sand. He will

not delay an hour, and we must get before him."

"Let us start, comrade."

Harris and Negoro both stood up, when the noise that had before

attracted the Portuguese's attention was renewed. It was a trembling

of the stems between the high papyrus.

Negoro stopped, and seized Harris's hand.

Suddenly a low barking was heard. A dog appeared at the foot of the

bank, with its mouth open, ready to spring.

"Dingo!" cried Harris.

"Ah! this time it shall not escape me!" replied Negoro.

Dingo was going to jump upon him, when Negoro, seizing Harris's gun,

quickly put it to his shoulder and fired.

A long howl of pain replied to the detonation, and Dingo disappeared

between the double row of bushes that bordered the brook.

Negoro descended at once to the bottom of the bank.

Drops of blood stained some of the papyrus stems, and a long red track

was left on the pebbles of the brook.

"At last that cursed animal is paid off!" exclaimed Negoro.

Harris had been present at this whole scene without saying a word.

"Ah now, Negoro," said he, "that dog had a particular grudge against

you."

"It seemed so, Harris, but it will have a grudge against me no

longer!"

"And why did it detest you so much, comrade?"

"Oh! an old affair to settle between it and me."

"An old affair?" replied Harris.

Negoro said no more about it, and Harris concluded that the Portuguese

had been silent on some past adventure, but he did not insist on

knowing it.

A few moments later, both, descending the course of the brook, went

toward the Coanza, across the forest.

*       *       *       *       *

CHAPTER III - ON THE MARCH.

Africa! That name so terrible under the present circumstances, that

name which he must now substitute for that of America, was not for an

instant out of Dick Sand's thoughts. When the young novice traced back

the last weeks, it was to ask himself how the "Pilgrim" had ended

by reaching this dangerous shore, how it had doubled Cape Horn, and

passed from one ocean to the other! He could now explain to himself

why, in spite of the rapid motion of his vessel, land was so long

coming in sight, because the length of the distance which he should

have made to reach the American coast had been doubled without his

knowledge.

"Africa! Africa!" Dick Sand repeated.

Then, suddenly, while he called up with tenacious mind all the

incidents of this inexplicable voyage, he felt that his compass must

have been injured. He remembered, too, that the first compass had been

broken, and that the log-line had snapped--a fact which had made it

impossible for him to establish the speed of the "Pilgrim."

"Yes," thought he, "there remained but one compass on board, one only,

the indications of which I could not control! And one night I was

awakened by a cry from old Tom. Negoro was there, aft. He had just

fallen on the binnacle. May he not have put it out of order?"

Dick Sand was growing enlightened. He had his finger on the truth. He

now understood all that was ambiguous in Negoro's conduct. He saw

his hand in this chain of incidents which had led to the loss of the

"Pilgrim," and had so fearfully endangered those on board of her.

But what, then, was this miserable man? Had he been a sailor and known

so well how to hide the fact? Was he capable of contriving this odious

plot which had thrown the ship on the coast of Africa?

At any rate, if obscure points still existed in the past, the present

could offer no more of them. The young novice knew only too well that

he was in Africa, and very probably in the fatal province of Angola,

more than a hundred miles from the coast. He also knew that Harris's

treason could no longer be doubted. From this fact, the most simple

logic led him to conclude that the American and the Portuguese had

long known each other, that a fatal chance had united them on this

coast, and that a plan had been concerted between them, the result of

which would be dreadful for the survivors of the "Pilgrim."

And now, why these odious actions? That Negoro wished, at all hazards,

to seize Tom and his companions, and sell them for slaves in this

slave-trading country, might be admitted. That the Portuguese, moved

by a sentiment of hatred, would seek to be revenged on him, Dick Sand,

who had treated him as he deserved, might also be conceived. But Mrs.

Weldon, this mother, and this young child--what would the wretch

do with them? If Dick Sand could have overheard a little of the

conversation between Harris and Negoro, he would have known what to

expect, and what dangers menaced Mrs. Weldon, the blacks, and himself.

The situation was frightful, but the young novice did not yield under

it. Captain on board, he remained captain on land. He must save Mrs.

Weldon, little Jack, all those whose fate Heaven had placed in his

hands. His task was only commencing. He would accomplish it to the

end.

After two or three hours, during which the present and the future were

summed up in his mind, with their good and their evil chances--the

last, alas! the most numerous--Dick Sand rose, firm and resolved.

The first glimmer of light then touched the summits of the forest.

With the exception of the novice and Tom, all slept. Dick Sand

approached the old black.

"Tom," he said to him, in a low tone, "you have recognized the roaring

of the lion, you have remembered the instruments of the slave-traders.

You know that we are in Africa!"

"Yes, Mr. Dick, I know it."

"Well, Tom, not a word of all that, neither to Mrs. Weldon nor to your

companions. We must be the only ones to know, the only ones to have

any fears."

"Alone--in fact. It is necessary," replied Tom.

"Tom," continued the novice, "we have to watch more carefully than

ever. We are in an enemy's country--and what enemies! what a country!

To keep our companions on their guard, it will be enough to tell them

that we have been betrayed by Harris. They will think that we fear an

attack from wandering Indians, and that will suffice."

"You can count absolutely on their courage and devotion, Mr. Dick."

"I know it, as I count on your good sense and your experience. You

will come to my help, old Tom?"

"Always, and everywhere, Mr. Dick."

Dick Sand's plan was accepted and approved by the old black. If Harris

were detected in open treason before the hour for action, at least

the young novice and his companions were not in fear of any immediate

danger. In fact, it was the discovery of the irons abandoned by some

slaves, and the roaring of the lion, that had caused the American's

sudden disappearance.

He knew that he was discovered, and he had fled probably before the

little party which he guided had reached the place where an attack

had been arranged. As for Negoro, whose presence Dingo had certainly

recognized during these last days of the march, he must have rejoined

Harris, so as to consult with him. At any rate, several hours would

pass before Dick Sand and his friends would be assailed, and it was

necessary to profit by them.

The only plan was to regain the coast as quickly as possible. This

coast, as the young novice had every reason to believe, was that of

Angola. After having reached it, Dick Sand would try to gain, either

to the north or to the south, the Portuguese settlements, where his

companions could await in safety some opportunity to return to their

country.

But, to effect this return to the coast, should they take the road

already passed over? Dick Sand did not think so, and in that he

was going to agree with Harris, who had clearly foreseen that

circumstances would oblige the young novice to shorten the road.

In fact, it would have been difficult, not to say imprudent, to

recommence this difficult journey through the forest, which, besides,

could only tend to bring them out at the place they had started from.

This would also allow Negoro's accomplices to follow an assured track.

The only thing they could do was to cross a river, without leaving any

traces, and, later on, to descend its course. At the same time, there

was less to fear from an attack by animals, which by a happy chance

had so far kept at a good distance. Even the animosity of the natives,

under these circumstances, seemed less important. Once embarked on a

solid raft, Dick Sand and his companions, being well armed, would be

in the best condition to defend themselves. The whole thing was to

find the river.

It must be added that, given the actual state of Mrs. Weldon and her

little Jack, this mode of traveling would be the most suitable. Arms

would not fail to carry the sick child. Lacking Harris's horse, they

could even make a litter of branches, on which Mrs. Weldon could be

borne. But this would require two men out of five, and Dick Sand

wished, with good reason, that all his companions might be free in

their movements in case of a sudden attack.

And then, in descending the current of a river, the young novice would

find himself in his element!

The question now was, whether a navigable stream of water existed in

the neighborhood. Dick Sand thought it probable, and for this reason:

The river which emptied into the Atlantic at the place where the

"Pilgrim" had stranded could not ascend much to the north, nor much to

the east, of the province, because a chain of mountains quite close to

them--those which they had mistaken for the Cordilleras--shut in the

horizon on these two sides. Then, either the river descended from

these heights, or it made a bend toward the south, and, in these two

cases, Dick Sand could not take long to find the course. Perhaps, even

before reaching the river--for it had a right to this qualification,

being a direct tributary of the ocean--one of its affluents would be

met with which would suffice for the transport of the little party.

At any rate, a stream of some sort could not be far away.

In fact, during the last miles of the journey the nature of the earth

had been modified. The declivities diminished and became damp. Here

and there ran narrow streams, which indicated that the sub-soil

enclosed everywhere a watery network. During the last day's march the

caravan had kept along one of these rivulets, whose waters, reddened

with oxyde of iron, eat away its steep, worn banks. To find it again

could not take long, or be very difficult. Evidently they could not

descend its impetuous course, but it would be easy to follow it to its

junction with a more considerable, possibly a navigable, affluent.

Such was the very simple plan which Dick Sand determined upon, after

having conferred with old Tom.

Day came, all their companions gradually awoke. Mrs. Weldon placed

little Jack in Nan's arms. The child was drowsy and faded-looking

during the intermittent periods, and was sad to see.

Mrs. Weldon approached Dick Sand. "Dick," she asked, after a steady

glance, "where is Harris? I do not perceive him."

The young novice thought that, while letting his companions believe

that they were treading on the soil of Bolivia, it would not do to

hide from them the American's treason. So he said, without hesitation:

"Harris is no longer here."

"Has he, then, gone ahead?" asked Mrs. Weldon. "He has fled, Mrs.

Weldon," replied Dick Sand. "This Harris is a traitor, and it is

according to Negoro's plan that he led us this far." "For what

motive?" quickly asked Mrs. Weldon. "I do not know," replied Dick

Sand; "but what I do know is, that we must return, without delay, to

the coast."

"That man--a traitor!" repeated Mrs. Weldon. "I had a presentiment of

it! And you think, Dick, that he is in league with Negoro?"

"That may be, Mrs. Weldon. The wretch is on our track. Chance has

brought these two scoundrels together, and--"

"And I hope that they will not be separated when I find them again!"

said Hercules. "I will break the head of one against the other's

head!" added the giant, holding out his formidable fists.

"But my child!" cried Mrs. Weldon. "The care that I hoped to find for

him at the farm of San Felice--"

"Jack will get well," said old Tom, "when he approaches the more

healthy part of the coast."

"Dick," remarked Mrs. Weldon, "you are sure that this Harris has

betrayed us?"

"Yes, Mrs. Weldon," replied the young novice, who would have liked to

avoid any explanation on this subject.

He also hastened to add, while looking at the old black:

"This very night Tom and I discovered his treason, and if he had not

jumped on his horse and fled, I would have killed him."

"So this farm--"

"There is neither farm, nor village, nor settlement in the

neighborhood," replied Dick Sand. "Mrs. Weldon, I repeat to you, we

must return to the coast."

"By the same road, Dick?"

"No, Mrs. Weldon, but by descending a river which will take us to the

sea without fatigue and without danger. A few more miles on foot, and

I do not doubt--"

"Oh, I am strong, Dick!" replied Mrs. Weldon, who struggled against

her own weakness. "I will walk! I will carry my child!"

"We are here, Mrs. Weldon," said Bat, "and we will carry you!"

"Yes. yes," added Austin. "Two branches of a tree, foliage laid

across."

"Thanks, my friends," replied Mrs. Weldon; "but I want to march. I

will march. Forward!"

"Forward!" exclaimed the young novice.

"Give me Jack," said Hercules, who took the child from Nan's arms.

"When I am not carrying something, I am tired."

The brave negro gently took in his strong arms the little sleeping

boy, who did not even wake.

Their arms were carefully examined. What remained of the provisions

was placed in one package, so as to be carried by one man. Austin

threw it on his back, and his companions thus became free in their

movements.

Cousin Benedict, whose long limbs were like steel and defied all

fatigue, was ready to set out. Had he remarked Harris's disappearance?

It would be imprudent to affirm it. Little disturbed him. Besides, he

was under the effects of one of the most terrible catastrophes that

could befall him.

In fact, a grave complication, Cousin Benedict had lost his

magnifying-glass and his spectacles. Very happily, also, but without

his suspecting it, Bat had found the two precious articles in the tall

grass where they had slept, but, by Dick Sand's advice, he kept them

safely. By this means they would be sure that the big child would keep

quiet during the march, because he could see no farther, as they say,

than the end of his nose.

Thus, placed between Acteon and Austin, with the formal injunction not

to leave them, the woful Benedict uttered no complaint, but followed

in his place, like a blind man led by a string.

The little party had not gone fifty steps when old Tom suddenly

stopped it with one word.

"Dingo?" said he.

"In fact, Dingo is not here!" replied Hercules.

The black called the dog several times with his powerful voice.

No barking replied to him.

Dick Sand remained silent. The absence of the dog, was to be

regretted, for he had preserved the little party from all surprise.

"Could Dingo have followed Harris?" asked Tom.

"Harris? No," replied Dick Sand; "but he may have put himself on

Negoro's scent. He felt him in our steps."

"This cook of misfortune would quickly end him with a ball!" cried

Hercules.

"Provided Dingo did not first strangle him," replied Bat.

"Perhaps so," replied the young novice. "But we cannot wait for

Dingo's return. Besides, if he is living, the intelligent animal will

know how to find us. Forward!"

The weather was very warm. Since daybreak large clouds obscured the

horizon. Already a storm was threatened in the air. Probably the day

would not end without some thunder-claps. Happily the forest, more or

less dense, retained a little freshness of the surface of the soil.

Here and there great forest trees inclosed prairies covered with

a tall, thick grass. In certain spots enormous trunks, already

petrified, lay on the ground, indicating the presence of coal mines,

which are frequently met with on the African continent. Then, in the

clearings, where the green carpet was mingled with some sprigs of

roses, the flowers were various in color, yellow and blue ginger

plants, pale lobelias, red orchids, incessantly visited by the insects

which fertilized them.

The trees no longer formed impenetrable masses, but their nature was

more varied. There were a kind of palm-tree, which gives an oil found

only in Africa; cotton-trees forming thickets from eight to ten feet

high, whose wood-stalks produce a cotton with long hairs, almost

analogous to that of Fernambouc. From the copals there oozes, by the

holes which certain insects make, an odorous gum, which runs along

the ground and collects for the wants of the natives. Here spread the

lemon-trees, the grenadiers of a savage condition of a country, and

twenty other odorous plants, which prove the prodigious fertility of

this plateau of Central Africa. In several places, also, the perfume

was agreeably mingled with the tine odor of vanilla, although they

could not discover what tree exhaled it.

This whole collection of trees and plants was perfectly green,

although it was in the middle of the dry season, and only rare storms

could water these luxuriant forests. It was then the time for fevers;

but, as Livingstone has observed, they can be cured by leaving the

place where they have been contracted. Dick Sand knew this remark of

the great traveler, and he hoped that little Jack would not contradict

it. He told it to Mrs. Weldon, after having observed that the

periodical access had not returned as they feared, and that the child

slept quietly in Hercules' arms.

Thus they went forward carefully and rapidly. Sometimes they

discovered traces where men or animals had recently passed. The

twisted and broken branches of the brushwood and the thickets afforded

an opportunity to walk with a more equal step. But the greater part of

the time numerous obstacles, which they had to overcome, retarded the

little party, to Dick Sand's great disappointment.

There were twisted lianes that might justly be compared with the

disordered rigging of a ship, certain vines similar to bent swords,

whose blades were ornamented with long thorns, vegetable serpents,

fifty or sixty feet long, which had the faculty of turning to prick

the passer-by with their sharp spikes. The blacks, hatchet in

hand, cut them down with vigorous blows, but the lianes reappeared

constantly, reaching from the earth to the top of the highest trees

which they encircled.

The animal kingdom was not less curious than the vegetable kingdom

in this part of the province. Birds flew in vast numbers under these

powerful branches; but it will be understood that they had no gunshot

to fear from the men, who wished to pass as secretly as rapidly. There

were Guinea fowls in large flocks, heath-cocks of various kinds, very

difficult to approach, and some of those birds which the Americans

of the North have, by onomatopoeia, called "whip-poor-wills," three

syllables which exactly reproduce their cries. Dick Sand and Tom might

truly have believed themselves in some province of the new continent.

But, alas! they knew what to expect.

Until then the deer, so dangerous in Africa, had not approached the

little troop. They again saw, in this first halt, some giraffes, which

Harris had undoubtedly called ostriches. These swift animals

passed rapidly, frightened by the apparition of a caravan in these

little-frequented forests. In the distance, on the edge of the

prairie, there arose at times a thick cloud of dust. It was a herd of

buffaloes, which galloped with the noise of wagons heavily laden.

For two miles Dick Sand thus followed the course of the rivulet which

must end in a more important river. He was in haste to confide his

companions to the rapid current of one of the coast rivers. He felt

sure that the dangers and the fatigue would be much less than on the

shore.

Towards noon three miles had been cleared without any bad incident or

meeting. There was no trace of either Harris or Negoro. Dingo had not

reappeared. It was necessary to halt to take rest and nourishment.

The encampment was established in a bamboo thicket, which completely

sheltered the little party.

They talked very little during this repast. Mrs. Weldon had taken her

little boy in her arms; she could not take her eyes off of him; she

could not eat.

"You must take some nourishment, Mrs. Weldon," Dick Sand repeated

several times. "What will become of you if your strength gives out?

Eat, eat! We will soon start again, and a good current will carry us

without fatigue to the coast."

Mrs. Weldon looked in Dick Sand's face while he thus talked. The young

novice's burning eyes spoke of the courage by which he felt animated.

In seeing him thus, in observing these brave, devoted blacks, wife

and mother, she could not yet despair; and, besides, why was she

abandoned? Did she not think herself on hospitable ground? Harris's

treason could not, in her eyes, have any very serious consequences.

Dick Sand read her thought, and he kept his eyes on the ground.

CHAPTER IV - THE BAD ROADS OF ANGOLA.

At this moment little Jack awoke, and put his arms around his mother's

neck. His eyes looked better. The fever had not returned.

"You are better, my darling," said Mrs. Weldon, pressing the sick

child to her heart.

"Yes, mama," replied Jack, "but I am a little thirsty."

They could only give the child some fresh water, of which he drank

with pleasure.

"And my friend Dick?" he said.

"Here I am, Jack," replied Dick Sand, coming to take the young child's

hand.

"And my friend Hercules?"

"Hercules is here, Mr. Jack," replied the giant, bringing nearer his

good face.

"And the horse?" demanded little Jack.

"The horse? Gone, Mr. Jack," replied Hercules. "I will carry you. Will

you find that I trot too hard?"

"No," replied little Jack; "but then I shall no longer have any bridle

to hold."

"Oh! you will put a bit in my mouth, if you wish," said Hercules,

opening his large mouth, "and you may pull back so long as that will

give you pleasure."

"You know very well that I shall not pull back."

"Good! You would be wrong! I have a hard mouth."

"But Mr. Harris's farm?" the little boy asked again.

"We shall soon arrive there, my Jack," replied Mrs. Weldon. "Yes,

soon!"

"Will we set out again?" then said Dick Sand, in order to cut short

this conversation.

"Yes, Dick, let us go," replied Mrs. Weldon.

The camp was broken up, and the march continued again in the same

order. It was necessary to pass through the underwood, so as not to

leave the course of the rivulet. There had been some paths there,

formerly, but those paths were dead, according to the native

expression--that is, brambles and brushwood had usurped them. In these

painful conditions they might spend three hours in making one mile.

The blacks worked without relaxation. Hercules, after putting little

Jack back in Nan's arms, took his part of the work; and what a part!

He gave stout "heaves," making his ax turn round, and a hole was made

before them, as if he had been a devouring fire.

Fortunately, this fatiguing work would not last. This first mile

cleared, they saw a large hole, opened through the underwood, which

ended obliquely at the rivulet and followed its bank. It was a passage

made by elephants, and those animals, doubtless by hundreds, were in

the habit of traversing this part of the forest. Great holes, made by

the feet of the enormous pachyderms, riddled a soil softened during

the rainy season. Its spongy nature also prepared it for those large

imprints.

It soon appeared that this passage did not serve for those gigantic

animals alone. Human beings had more than once taken this route, but

as flocks, brutally led to the slaughter-house, would have followed

it. Here and there bones of dead bodies strewed the ground; remains

of skeletons, half gnawed by animals, some of which still bore the

slave's fetters.

There are, in Central Africa, long roads thus marked out by human

débris. Hundreds of miles are traversed by caravans, and how many

unhappy wretches fall by the way, under the agents' whips, killed by

fatigue or privations, decimated by sickness! How many more massacred

by the traders themselves, when food fails! Yes, when they can no

longer feed them, they kill them with the gun, with the sword, with

the knife! These massacres are not rare.

So, then, caravans of slaves had followed this road. For a mile Dick

Sand and his companions struck against these scattered bones at each

step, putting to flight enormous fern-owls. Those owls rose at their

approach, with a heavy flight, and turned round in the air.

Mrs. Weldon looked without seeing. Dick Sand trembled lest she should

question him, for he hoped to lead her back to the coast without

telling her that Harris's treachery had led them astray in an African

province. Fortunately, Mrs. Weldon did not explain to herself what

she had under her eyes. She had desired to take her child again, and

little Jack, asleep, absorbed all her care. Nan walked near her, and

neither of them asked the young novice the terrible questions he

dreaded.

Old Tom went along with his eyes down. He understood only too well why

this opening was strewn with human bones.

His companions looked to the right, to the left, with an air of

surprise, as if they were crossing an interminable cemetery, the

tombs of which had been overthrown by a cataclysm; but they passed in

silence.

Meanwhile, the bed of the rivulet became deeper and wider at the same

time. Its current was less impetuous. Dick Sand hoped that it would

soon become navigable, or that it would before long reach a more

important river, tributary to the Atlantic.

Cost what it might, the young novice was determined to follow this

stream of water. Neither did he hesitate to abandon this opening;

because, as ending by an oblique line, it led away from the rivulet.

The little party a second time ventured through the dense underwood.

They marched, ax in hand, through leaves and bushes inextricably

interlaced.

But if this vegetation obstructed the ground, they were no longer in

the thick forest that bordered the coast. Trees became rare. Large

sheaves of bamboo alone rose above the grass, and so high that even

Hercules was not a head over them. The passage of the little party was

only revealed by the movement of these stalks.

Toward three o'clock in the afternoon of that day, the nature of the

ground totally changed. Here were long plains, which must have been

entirely inundated in the rainy season. The earth, now more swampy,

was carpeted by thick mosses, beneath charming ferns. Should it be

diversified by any steep ascents, they would see brown hematites

appear, the last deposits of some rich vein of mineral.

Dick Sand then recalled--and very fortunately--what he had read in

"Livingstone's Travels." More than once the daring doctor had nearly

rested in these marshes, so treacherous under foot.

"Listen to me, my friends," said he, going ahead. "Try the ground

before stepping on it."

"In fact," replied Tom, "they say that these grounds have been

softened by the rain; but, however, it has not rained during these

last days."

"No," replied Bat; "but the storm is not far off."

"The greater reason," replied Dick Sand, "why we should hurry and get

clear of this swamp before it commences. Hercules, take little Jack

in your arms. Bat, Austin, keep near Mrs. Weldon, so as to be able to

help her if necessary. You, Mr. Benedict--Why, what are you doing,

Mr. Benedict?"

"I am falling!" innocently replied Cousin Benedict, who had just

disappeared as if a trap had been suddenly opened beneath his feet.

In fact, the poor man had ventured on a sort of quagmire, and had

disappeared half-way in the sticky mud. They stretched out their

hands, and he rose, covered with slime, but quite satisfied at not

having injured his precious entomologist's box. Acteon went beside

him, and made it his duty to preserve the unlucky, near-sighted man

from any new disasters.

Besides, Cousin Benedict had made rather a bad choice of the quagmire

for his plunge. When they drew him out of the sticky earth a large

quantity of bubbles rose to the surface, and, in bursting, they

emitted some gases of a suffocating odor. Livingstone, who had been

sunk up to his chest in this slime, compared these grounds to a

collection of enormous sponges, made of black, porous earth, from

which numerous streams of water spouted when they were stepped upon.

These places were always very dangerous.

For the space of half a mile Dick Sand and his companions must march

over this spongy soil. It even became so bad that Mrs. Weldon was

obliged to stop, for she sank deep in the mire. Hercules, Bat, and

Austin, wishing to spare her the unpleasantness more than the fatigue

of a passage across this marshy plain, made a litter of bamboos, on

which she consented to sit. Her little Jack was placed in her arms,

and they endeavored to cross that pestilential marsh in the quickest

manner.

The difficulties were great. Acteon held Cousin Benedict firmly. Tom

aided Nan, who, without him, would have disappeared several times in

some crevice. The three other blacks carried the litter. At the head,

Dick Sand sounded the earth. The choice of the place to step on was

not made without trouble. They marched from preference on the edges,

which were covered by a thick and tough grass. Often the support

failed, and they sank to the knees in the slime.

At last, about five o'clock in the evening, the marsh being cleared,

the soil regained sufficient firmness, thanks to its clayey nature;

but they felt it damp underneath. Very evidently these lands lay below

the neighboring rivers, and the water ran through their pores.

At that time the heat had become overwhelming. It would even have

been unbearable, if thick storm clouds had not interposed between the

burning rays and the ground. Distant lightnings began to rend the sky

and low rollings of thunder grumbled in the depths of the heavens. A

formidable storm was going to burst forth.

Now, these cataclysms are terrible in Africa: rain in torrents,

squalls of wind which the strongest trees cannot resist, clap after

clap of thunder, such is the contest of the elements in that latitude.

Dick Sand knew it well, and he became very uneasy. They could not pass

the night without shelter. The plain was likely to be inundated, and

it did not present a single elevation on which it was possible to seek

refuge.

But refuge, where would they seek it in this low desert, without a

tree, without a bush? The bowels of the earth even would not give it.

Two feet below the surface they would find water.

However, toward the north a series of low hills seemed to limit the

marshy plain. It was as the border of this depression of land. A few

trees were profiled there on a more distant, clearer belt, left by the

clouds on the line of the horizon.

There, if shelter were still lacking, the little band would at least

no longer risk being caught in a possible inundation. There perhaps

was salvation for all.

"Forward, my friends, forward!" repeated Dick Sand. "Three miles more

and we shall be safer than in these bottom-lands."

"Hurry! hurry!" cried Hercules.

The brave black would have wished to take that whole world in big arms

and carry it alone.

Those words inspired those courageous men, and in spite of the fatigue

of a day's march, they advanced more quickly than they had done at the

commencement from the halting-place.

When the storm burst forth the end to be attained was still more than

two miles off. Now--a fact which was the more to be feared--the rain

did not accompany the first lightnings exchanged between the ground

and the electrical clouds. Darkness then became almost complete,

though the sun had not disappeared below the horizon. But the dome of

vapors gradually lowered, as if it threatened to fall in--a falling in

which must result in a torrent of rain. Lightnings, red or blue, split

it in a thousand places, and enveloped the plain in an inextricable

network of fire.

Twenty times Dick and his companions ran the risk of being struck by

lightning. On this plateau, deprived of trees, they formed the only

projecting points which could attract the electrical discharges. Jack,

awakened by the noise of the thunder, hid himself in Hercules' arms.

He was very much afraid, poor little boy, but he did not wish to let

his mother see it, for fear of afflicting her more. Hercules, while

taking great steps, consoled him as well as he could.

"Do not be afraid, little Jack," he repeated. "If the thunder comes

near us, I will break it in two with a single hand. I am stronger than

it!"

And, truly, the giant's strength reassured Jack a little.

Meanwhile the rain must soon fall, and then it would in torrents,

poured out by those clouds in condensing. What would become of Mrs.

Weldon and her companions, if they did not find a shelter?

Dick Sand stopped a moment near old Tom.

"What must be done?" said he.

"Continue our march, Mr. Dick," replied Tom. "We cannot remain on this

plain, that the rain is going to transform into a marsh!"

"No, Tom, no! But a shelter! Where? What? If it were only a hut--"

Dick Sand had suddenly broken off his sentence. A more vivid flash of

lightning had just illuminated the whole plain.

"What have I seen there, a quarter of a mile off?" exclaimed Dick

Sand.

"Yes, I also, I have seen--" replied old Tom, shaking his head.

"A camp, is it not?"

"Yes, Mr. Dick, it must be a camp, but a camp of natives!"

A new flash enabled them to observe this camp more closely. It

occupied a part of the immense plain.

There, in fact, rose a hundred conical tents, symmetrically arranged,

and measuring from twelve to fifteen feet in height. Not a soldier

showed himself, however. Were they then shut up under their tents, so

as to let the storm pass, or was the camp abandoned?

In the first case, whatever Heaven should threaten, Dick Sand must

flee in the quickest manner. In the second, there was, perhaps, the

shelter he asked.

"I shall find out," he said to himself; then, addressing old Tom:

"Stay here. Let no one follow me. I shall go to reconnoiter that

camp."

"Let one of us accompany you, Mr. Dick."

"No, Tom, I shall go alone. I can approach without being seen. Stay

here."

The little troop, that followed Tom and Dick Sand, halted. The young

novice left at once and disappeared in the darkness, which was

profound when the lightning did not tear the sky.

Some large drops of rain already began to fall.

"What is the matter?" asked Mrs. Weldon, approaching the old black.

"We have perceived a camp, Mrs. Weldon," replied Tom; "a camp--or,

perhaps, a village, and our captain wished to reconnoiter it before

leading us to it."

Mrs. Weldon was satisfied with this reply. Three minutes after, Dick

Sand was returning.

"Come! come!" he cried, in a voice which expressed his entire

satisfaction.

"The camp is abandoned?" asked Tom.

"It is not a camp," replied the young novice; "it is not a village.

They are ant-hills!"

"Ant-hills!" exclaimed Cousin Benedict, whom that word aroused.

"Yes, Mr. Benedict, but ant-hills twelve feet high, at least, and in

which we shall endeavor to hide ourselves."

"But then," replied Cousin Benedict, "those would be ant-hills of the

warlike termite or of the devouring termite. Only those ingenious

insects raise such monuments, which the greatest architects would not

disown."

"Whether they be termites or not, Mr. Benedict," replied Dick Sand,

"we must dislodge them and take their place."

"They will devour us. They will be defending their rights."

"Forward! Forward!"

"But, wait now!" said Cousin Benedict again. "I thought those

ant-hills only existed in Africa."

"Forward!" exclaimed Dick Sand, for the last time, with a sort of

violence. He was so much afraid that Mrs. Weldon might hear the last

word pronounced by the entomologist.

They followed Dick Sand with all haste. A furious wind had sprung up.

Large drops crackled on the ground. In a few moments the squalls of

wind would become unbearable. Soon one of those cones which stood on

the plain was reached. No matter how threatening the termites might

be, the human beings must not hesitate. If they could not drive the

insects away, they must share their abode.

At the bottom of this cone, made with a kind of reddish clay, there

was a very narrow hole. Hercules enlarged it with his cutlass in a few

moments, so as to give a passage even to a man like himself.

To Cousin Benedict's extreme surprise, not one of the thousands of

termites that ought to occupy the ant-hill showed itself. Was, then,

the cone abandoned?

The hole enlarged, Dick and his companions glided into it. Hercules

disappeared the last, just as the rain fell with such rage that it

seemed to extinguish the lightnings.

But those wind squalls were no longer to be feared. A happy chance had

furnished this little troop with a solid shelter, better than a tent,

better than a native's hut.

It was one of those termite cones that, according to Lieutenant

Cameron's comparison, are more astonishing than the pyramids of Egypt,

raised by the hands of men, because they have been built by such small

insects.

"It is," said he, "as if a nation had built Mount Everest, the highest

mountain of the Himalaya chain."

CHAPTER V - ANTS AND THEIR DWELLING.

At this moment the storm burst with a violence unknown in temperate

latitudes.

It was providential that Dick Sand and his companions had found this

refuge!

In fact, the rain did not fall in distinct drops, but in streams of

various thickness. Sometimes it was a compact mass forming a sheet of

water, like a cataract, a Niagara. Imagine an aerial basin, containing

a whole sea, being upset. Under such showers the ground was hollowed

out, the plains were changed to lakes, the streams to torrents, the

rivers, overflowing, inundated vast territories. In temperate zones

the violence of the storms decreases according to their duration; but

in Africa, however heavy they are, they continue for several entire

days. How can so much electricity be collected in the clouds? How

can such quantities of vapor be accumulated? It is very difficult to

comprehend this. However, such are the facts, and one might suppose

himself transported to the extraordinary epochs of the diluvian

period.

Fortunately, the ant-cone, with its thick walls, was perfectly

impervious. A beaver's hut, of well-beaten earth, could not have been

more water-tight. A torrent could have passed over it without a single

drop of water filtering through its pores.

As soon as Dick Sand and his companions had taken possession of the

cone they occupied themselves in examining its interior arrangement.

The lantern was lighted, and the ant-hill was sufficiently

illuminated. This cone, which measured twelve feet in height inside,

was eleven feet wide, except in its upper part, which rounded in the

form of a sugar loaf. Everywhere the walls were about one foot in

thickness, and there was a distance between the stories of cells which

adorned them.

We may be astonished at the construction of such monuments, due to

these industrious swarms of insects, but it is true that they are

frequently found in the interior of Africa. Smeathman, a Dutch

traveler of the last century, with four of his companions, occupied

the top of one of these cones. In the Lounde, Livingstone observed

several of these ant-hills, built of reddish clay, and attaining a

height of fifteen and twenty feet. Lieutenant Cameron has many a time

mistaken for a camp these collections of cones which dotted the plain

in N'yangwe. He has even stopped at the foot of great edifices, not

more than twenty feet high, but composed of forty or fifty enormous

rounded cones, flanked with bell-towers like the dome of a cathedral,

such as Southern Africa possesses.

To what species of ant was due, then, the prodigious style of

architecture of these cones?

"To the warlike termite," Cousin Benedict had replied, without

hesitating, as soon as he had recognized the nature of the materials

employed in their construction.

And, in fact, the walls, as has been said, were made of reddish clay.

Had they been formed of a gray or black alluvian earth, they must have

been attributed to the "termes mordax" or the "termes atrox." As we

see, these insects have not very cheering names--a fact which cannot

but please a strong entomologist, such as Cousin Benedict.

The central part of the cone, in which the little troop had first

found shelter, and which formed the empty interior, would not have

contained them; but large cavities, in close contact, made a number

of divisions, in which a person of medium height could find refuge.

Imagine a succession of open drawers, and at the bottom of those

drawers millions of cells which the termites had occupied, and the

interior disposition of the ant-hill is easily understood. To sum up,

these drawers are in tiers, like the berths in a ship's cabin. In the

upper ones Mrs. Weldon, little Jack, Nan, and Cousin Benedict took

refuge. In the lower row Austin, Bat, and Acteon hid themselves. As

for Dick Sand, Tom, and Hercules, they remained in the lower part of

the cone.

"My friends," then said the young novice to the two blacks, "the

ground is becoming damp. We must fill it up by crumbling the red clay

from the base; but take care not to obstruct the hole by which the air

enters. We cannot risk being smothered in this ant-hill."

"We have only one night to spend here," replied old Tom.

"Well, let us try and make it recover us from our fatigue. This is the

first time in ten days that we have not to sleep in the open air."

"Ten days!" repeated Tom.

"Besides," added Dick Sand, "as this cone forms a solid shelter,

perhaps we had better stay here twenty-four hours. During that time, I

will go in search of the stream that we are in need of; it cannot be

very distant. I think that until we have constructed our raft, it will

be better not to quit this shelter. The storm cannot reach us here.

Let us make the floor stronger and dryer."

Dick Sand's orders were executed at once. Hercules, with his ax,

crumbled the first story of cells, which was composed of crisp red

clay. He thus raised, more than a foot, the interior part of the

swampy earth on which the ant-hill rested, and Dick Sand made sure

that the air could freely penetrate to the interior of the cone

through the orifice pierced at its base.

It was, certainly, a fortunate circumstance that the ant-hill had been

abandoned by the termites. With a few thousands of these ants, it

would have been uninhabitable. But, had it been evacuated for some

time, or had the voracious newroptera but just quitted it? It was not

superfluous to ponder this question.

Cousin Benedict was so much surprised at the abandonment, that he at

once considered the reason for it, and he was soon convinced that the

emigration had been recent.

In fact, he did not wait, but, descending to the lower part of the

cone, and taking the lantern, he commenced to examine the most secret

corners of the ant-hill. He thus discovered what is called the

"general store-house" of the termites, that is to say, the place where

these industrious insects lay up the provisions of the colony.

It was a cavity hollowed in the wall, not far from the royal cell,

which Hercules's labor had destroyed, along with the cells destined

for the young larvae.

In this store-room Cousin Benedict collected a certain quantity of

particles of gum and the juices of plants, scarcely solidified, which

proved that the termites had lately brought them from without.

"Well, no!" cried he. "No!" as if he were replying to some

contradiction, "No, this ant-hill has not been long abandoned."

"Who says to the contrary, Mr. Benedict?" said Dick Sand. "Recently

or not, the important thing for us is that the termites have left it,

because we have to take their place."

"The important thing," replied Cousin Benedict, "will be to know why

they have left it. Yesterday--this morning, perhaps--these sagacious

newroptera were still here, because, see these liquid juices; and this

evening----"

"Well, what do you conclude, Mr. Benedict?" asked Dick Sand.

"That a secret presentiment has caused them to abandon the cone. Not

only have all the termites left their cells, but they have taken care

to carry away the young larvae, of which I cannot find one. Well, I

repeat that all this was not done without a motive, and that these

sagacious insects foresaw some near danger."

"They foresaw that we were going to invade their dwelling," replied

Hercules, laughing.

"Indeed!" replied Cousin Benedict, whom this answer sensibly shocked.

"You think yourself so strong that you would be dangerous to these

courageous insects? A few thousand of these newroptera would quickly

reduce you to a skeleton if they found you dead on the road."

"Dead, certainly," replied Hercules, who would not give up; "but,

living, I could crush masses of them."

"You might crush a hundred thousand, five hundred thousand, a

million," replied Cousin Benedict, with animation, "but not a thousand

millions; and a thousand millions would devour you, living or dead, to

the last morsel."

During this discussion, which was less trifling than might be

supposed, Dick Sand reflected on the observations made by Cousin

Benedict. There was no doubt that the savant knew too much about the

habits of the termites to be mistaken. If he declared that a secret

instinct warned them to leave the ant-hill recently, it was because

there was truly peril in remaining in it.

Meanwhile, as it was impossible to abandon this shelter at a moment

when the storm was raging with unparalleled intensity, Dick

Sand looked no farther for an explanation of what seemed to be

inexplicable, and he contented himself with saying:

"Well, Mr. Benedict, if the termites have left their provisions in

this ant-hill, we must not forget that we have brought ours, and

let us have supper. To-morrow, when the storm will be over, we will

consult together on our future plans."

They then occupied themselves in preparing the evening meal, for,

great as their fatigue was, it had not affected the appetite of these

vigorous walkers. On the contrary, the food, which had to last for two

more days, was very welcome. The damp had not reached the biscuits,

and for several minutes it could be heard cracking under the solid

teeth of Dick Sand and his companions. Between Hercules's jaws it

was like grain under the miller's grindstone. It did not crackle, it

powdered.

Mrs. Weldon alone scarcely eat, and even Dick Sand's entreaties were

vain. It seemed to him that this brave woman was more preoccupied,

more sad than she had been hitherto. Meanwhile her little Jack

suffered less; the fever had not returned, and at this time he was

sleeping, under his mother's eyes, in a cell well lined with garments.

Dick Sand knew not what to think.

It is useless to say that Cousin Benedict did honor to the repast, not

that he paid any attention either to the quality or to the quantity of

the food that he devoured, but because he had found an opportunity to

deliver a lecture in entomology on the termites. Ah! if he had been

able to find a termite, a single one, in the deserted ant hill! But

nothing.

"These admirable insects," said he, without taking the trouble to find

out if any one were listening--"these admirable insects belong to the

marvelous order of newroptera, whose horns are longer than the head,

the jaws very distinct, and whose lower wings are generally equal to

the upper ones. Five tribes constitute this order: the Panorpates

(scorpion flies), the Myrmileoniens, the Hemerobins, the Termitines

and the Perlides. It is useless to add that the insects which now

interest us, and whose dwelling we occupy, perhaps unduly, are the

Termitines."

At this moment Dick Sand listened very attentively to Cousin Benedict.

Had the meeting with these termites excited in him the thought that he

was perhaps on the African continent, without knowing by what chance

he had arrived there? The young novice was very anxious to find out.

The savant, mounted on his favorite hobby, continued to ride it

beautifully.

"Now these termitines," said he, "are characterized by four joints

on the instep, horned jaws, and remarkable strength. We have the

mantispe species, the raphidie, and the termite species. The last

is often known under the term of white ants, in which we count the

deadly termite, the yellow corslet termite, the termite that shuns the

light, the biter, the destroyer--"

"And those that constructed this ant-hill?" asked Dick Sand.

"They are the martial ants," replied Cousin Benedict, who pronounced

this word as if it had been the Macedonians, or some other ancient

people brave in war. "Yes, the warlike ants, and of all sizes.

Between Hercules and a dwarf the difference would be less than

between the largest of these insects and the smallest. Among them are

'workers' of five millimeters in length 'soldiers' of ten, and males

and females of twenty. We find also a kind otherwise very curious: the

sirafous half an inch in length, which have pincers for jaws, and a

head larger than the body, like the sharks. They are the sharks among

insects, and in a fight between some sirafous and a shark, I would

bet on the sirafous."

"And where are these sirafous commonly observed?" then asked Dick

Sand.

"In Africa," replied Cousin Benedict; "in the central and southern

provinces. Africa is, in fact, the country of ants. You should read

what Livingstone says of them in the last notes reported by Stanley.

More fortunate than myself, the doctor has witnessed a Homeric battle,

joined between an army of black ants and an army of red ants. The

latter, which are called 'drivers,' and which the natives name

sirafous, were victorious.

"The others, the 'tchoungous,' took flight, carrying their eggs and

their young, not without having bravely defended themselves. Never,

according to Livingstone, never was the spirit of battle carried

farther, either among men or beasts! With their tenacious jaws, which

tear out the piece, these sirafous make the bravest man recoil. The

largest animals--even lions and elephants--flee before them.

"Nothing stops them; neither trees, which they climb to the summit,

nor streams, which they cross by making a suspension bridge of

their own bodies, hooked together. And numerous! Another African

traveler--Du Chaillu--has seen a column of these ants defile past him

for twelve hours without stopping on the road. But why be astonished

at the sight of such myriads? The fecundity of these insects is

surprising; and, to return to our fighting termites, it has been

proved that a female deposits as much as sixty thousand eggs in a

day! Besides, these newroptera furnish the natives with a juicy food.

Broiled ants, my friends; I know of nothing better in the world!"

"Have you then eaten them, Mr. Benedict?" asked Hercules.

"Never," replied the wise professor; "but I shall eat some."

"Where?"

"Here."

"Here; we are not in Africa!" said Tom, very quickly.

"No, no!" replied Cousin Benedict; "and, thus far, these warlike

termites, and their villages of ant-hills, have only been observed on

the African Continent. Ah! such travelers. They do not know how to

see! Well! all the better, after all. I have discovered a tsetse in

America. To the glory of this, I shall join that of having found the

warlike termites on the same continent! What matter for an article

that will make a sensation in educated Europe, and, perhaps, appear in

folio form, with prints and engravings, besides the text!"

It was evident that the truth had not entered Cousin Benedict's brain.

The poor man and all his companions, Dick Sand and Tom excepted,

believed themselves, and must believe themselves, where they were

not! It needed other incidents, facts still more grave than certain

scientific curiosities, to undeceive them!

It was then nine o'clock in the morning. Cousin Benedict had talked

for a long time. Did he perceive that his auditors, propped up in

their cells, had gradually fallen asleep during his entomological

lecture? No; certainly not. He lectured for himself. Dick Sand no

longer questioned him, and remained motionless, although he did not

sleep. As for Hercules, he had resisted longer than the others; but

fatigue soon finished by shutting his eyes, and, with his eyes, his

ears.

For some time longer Cousin Benedict continued to lecture. However,

sleep finally got the best of him, and he mounted to the upper cavity

of the cone, in which he had chosen his domicile.

Deep silence fell on the interior of the cone, while the storm filled

space with noise and fire. Nothing seemed to indicate that the tempest

was nearly over.

The lantern had been extinguished. The interior of the ant-hill was

plunged in complete darkness.

No doubt all slept. However, Dick Sand, alone, did not seek in sleep

the repose which was so necessary to him. Thought absorbed him. He

dreamed of his companions, whom he would save at all hazards. The

wrecking of the "Pilgrim" had not been the end of their cruel trials,

and others, still more terrible, threatened them should they fall into

the hands of these natives.

And how to avoid this danger, the worst of all, during their return to

the coast. Harris and Negoro had not led them a hundred miles into the

interior of Angola without a secret design to gain possession of them.

But what did this miserable Portuguese intend? Who had merited his

hatred? The young novice repeated to himself, that he alone had

incurred it. Then he passed in review all the incidents that had taken

place during the "Pilgrim's" voyage; the meeting with the wreck and

the blacks; the pursuit of the whale; the disappearance of Captain

Hull and his crew.

Dick Sand had found himself, at the age of fifteen, intrusted with the

command of a vessel, the compass and log of which were soon injured by

Negoro's criminal actions. He again saw himself using his authority in

the presence of this insolent cook, threatening to put him in irons,

or to blow out his brains with a pistol shot. Ah, why had he hesitated

to do it? Negoro's corpse would have been thrown overboard, and none

of these catastrophes would have happened.

Such were the young man's various thoughts. Then they dwelt a moment

on the shipwreck which had ended the "Pilgrim's" voyage. The traitor

Harris appeared then, and this province of South America gradually

became transformed. Bolivia changed to the terrible Angola, with its

feverish climate, its savage deer, its natives still more cruel. Could

the little party escape during its return to the coast? This river

which he was seeking, which he hoped to find, would it conduct them to

the shore with more safety, and with less fatigue? He would not doubt

it, for he knew well that a march of a hundred miles through this

inhospitable country, in the midst of incessant dangers, was no longer

possible.

"Happily," he said to himself, "Mrs. Weldon and all are ignorant of

the danger of the situation. Old Tom and I, we alone are to know that

Negoro has thrown us on the coast of Africa; and that Harris has led

me into the wilds of Angola."

Dick Sand was thus sunk in overpowering thoughts, when he felt a

breath on his forehead. A hand rested on his shoulder, and a trembling

voice murmured these words in his ear:

"I know all, my poor Dick, but God can yet save us! His will be done!"

CHAPTER VI - THE DIVING-BELL.

To this unexpected revelation Dick Sand could not reply. Besides, Mrs.

Weldon had gone back at once to her place beside little Jack. She

evidently did not wish to say any more about it, and the young novice

had not the courage to detain her.

Thus Mrs. Weldon knew what to believe. The various incidents, of the

way had enlightened her also, and perhaps, too, that word, "Africa!"

so unluckily pronounced the night before by Cousin Benedict.

"Mrs. Weldon knows everything," repeated Dick Sand to himself. "Well,

perhaps it is better so. The brave woman does not despair. I shall not

despair either."

Dick Sand now longed for day to return, that he might explore the

surroundings of this termite village. He must find a tributary of the

Atlantic with a rapid course to transport all his little troop. He had

a presentiment that this watercourse could not be far distant. Above

all, they must avoid an encounter with the natives, perhaps already

sent in pursuit of them under Harris's and Negoro's direction.

But it was not day yet. No light made its way into the cone through

the lower orifice. Rumblings, rendered low by the thickness of the

walls, indicated that the storm still raged. Listening, Dick Sand also

heard the rain falling with violence at the base of the ant-hill. As

the large drops no longer struck a hard soil, he must conclude that

the whole plain was inundated.

It must have been about eleven o'clock. Dick Sand then felt that a

kind of torpor, if not a true sleep, was going to overcome him. It

would, however, be rest. But, just as he was yielding to it, the

thought came to him that, by the settling of the clay, washed in, the

lower orifice was likely to be obstructed. All passage for the outer

air would be closed. Within, the respiration of ten persons would soon

vitiate the air by loading it with carbonic acid.

Dick Sand then slipped to the ground, which had been raised by the

clay from the first floor of cells.

That cushion was still perfectly dry, and the orifice entirely free.

The air penetrated freely to the interior of the cone, and with it

some flashes of lightning, and the loud noises of that storm, that a

diluvian rain could not extinguish.

Dick Sand saw that all was well. No immediate danger seemed to menace

these human termites, substituted for the colony of newroptera. The

young novice then thought of refreshing himself by a few hours' sleep,

as he already felt its influence. Only with supreme precaution Dick

Sand lay on that bed of clay, at the bottom of the cone, near the

narrow edifice.

By this means, if any accident happened outside, he would be the first

to remark it. The rising day would also awaken him, and he would be

ready to begin the exploration of the plain.

Dick Sand lay down then, his head against the wall, his gun under his

hand, and almost immediately he was asleep.

How long this drowsiness lasted he could not tell, when he was

awakened by a lively sensation of coolness.

He rose and recognized, not without great anxiety, that the water was

invading the ant hill, and even so rapidly, that in a few seconds it

would reach the story of cells occupied by Tom and Hercules.

The latter, awakened by Dick Sand, were told about this new

complication.

The lighted lantern soon showed the interior of the cone.

The water had stopped at a height of about five feet, and remained

stationary.

"What is the matter, Dick?" asked Mrs. Weldon.

"It is nothing," replied the young novice. "The lower part of the

cone has been inundated. It is probably that during this storm a

neighboring river has overflowed on this plain."

"Good!" said Hercules; "that proves the river is there!"

"Yes," replied Dick Sand, "and it will carry us to the coast. Be

reassured, then, Mrs. Weldon; the water cannot reach you, nor little

Jack, nor Nan, nor Mr. Benedict."

Mrs. Weldon did not reply. As to the cousin, he slept like a veritable

termite.

Meanwhile the blacks, leaning over this sheet of water, which

reflected the lantern's light, waited for Dick Sand to indicate

to them what should be done. He was measuring the height of the

inundation.

After having the provisions and arms put out of the reach of the

inundation, Dick Sand was silent.

"The water has penetrated by the orifice," said Tom.

"Yes," replied Dick Sand, "and now it prevents the interior air from

being renewed."

"Could we not make a hole in the wall above the level of the water?"

asked the old black.

"Doubtless, Tom; but if we have five feet of water within, there are

perhaps six or seven, even more, without."

"You think, Mr. Dick--?"

"I think, Tom, that the water, rising inside the ant-hill, has

compressed the air in the upper part, and that this air now makes an

obstacle to prevent the water from rising higher. But if we pierce a

hole in the wall by which the air would escape, either the water would

still rise till it reached the outside level, or if it passed the

hole, it would rise to that point where the compressed air would again

keep it back. We must be here like workmen in a diving-bell."

"What must be done?" asked Tom.

"Reflect well before acting," replied Dick Sand. "An imprudence might

cost us our lives!"

The young novice's observation was very true.

In comparing the cone to a submerged bell, he was right. Only in that

apparatus the air is constantly renewed by means of pumps. The divers

breathe comfortably, and they suffer no other inconveniences than

those resulting from a prolonged sojourn in a compressed atmosphere,

no longer at a normal pressure.

But here, beside those inconveniences, space was already reduced a

third by the invasion of the water. As to the air, it would only be

renewed if they put it in communication with the outer atmosphere by

means of a hole.

Could they, without running the danger spoken of by Dick Sand, pierce

that hole? Would not the situation be aggravated by it?

What was certain was, that the water now rested at a level which only

two causes could make it exceed, namely: if they pierced a hole, and

the level of the rising waters was higher outside, or if the height

of this rising water should still increase. In either of these cases,

only a narrow space would remain inside the cone, where the air, not

renewed, would be still more compressed.

But might not the ant-hill be torn from the ground and overthrown by

the inundation, to the extreme danger of those within it? No, no more

than a beaver's hut, so firmly did it adhere by its base.

Then, the event most to be feared was the persistence of the storm,

and, consequently, the increase of the inundation. Thirty feet of

water on the plain would cover the cone with eighteen feet of water,

and bear on the air within with the pressure of an atmosphere.

Now, after reflecting well upon it, Dick Sand was led to fear that

this inundation might increase considerably.

In fact, it could not be due solely to that deluge poured out by

the clouds. It seemed more probable that a neighboring watercourse,

swelled by the storm, had burst its banks, and was spreading over this

plain lying below it. What proof had they that the ant-hill was not

then entirely submerged, and that it was full time to leave it by the

top part, which would not be difficult to demolish?

Dick Sand, now extremely anxious, asked himself what he ought to

do. Must he wait or suddenly announce the probable result of the

situation, after ascertaining the condition of things?

It was then three o'clock in the morning. All, motionless, silent,

listened. The noise from outside came very feebly through the

obstructed orifice. All the time a dull sound, strong and continued,

well indicated that the contest of the elements had not ceased.

At that moment old Tom observed that the water level was gradually

rising.

"Yes," replied Dick Sand, "and if it rises, as the air cannot escape

from within, it is because the rising of the waters increases and

presses it more and more."

"It is but slight so far," said Tom.

"Without doubt," replied Dick Sand; "but where will this level stop?"

"Mr. Dick," asked Bat, "would you like me to go out of the ant-hill?

By diving, I should try to slip out by the hole."

"It will be better for me to try it," replied Dick Sand.

"No, Mr. Dick, no," replied old Tom, quickly; "let my son do it, and

trust to his skill. In case he could not return, your presence is

necessary here."

Then, lower:

"Do not forget Mrs. Weldon and little Jack."

"Be it so," replied Dick Sand. "Go, then, Bat. If the ant-hill is

submerged, do not seek to enter it again. We shall try to come out as

you will have done. But if the cone still emerges, strike on its top

with the ax that you will take with you. We will hear you, and it

will be the signal for us to demolish the top from our side. You

understand?"

"Yes, Mr. Dick," replied Bat.

"Go, then, boy," added old Tom, pressing his son's hand.

Bat, after laying in a good provision of air by a long aspiration,

plunged under the liquid mass, whose depth then exceeded five feet. It

was a rather difficult task, because he would have to seek the lower

orifice, slip through it, and then rise to the outside surface of the

waters.

That must be done quickly.

Nearly half a minute passed away. Dick Sand then thought that Bat had

succeeded in passing outside when the black emerged.

"Well!" exclaimed Dick Sand.

"The hole is stopped up by rubbish!" replied Bat, as soon as he could

take breath.

"Stopped up!" repeated Tom.

"Yes," replied Bat. "The water has probably diluted the clay. I have

felt around the walls with my hand. There is no longer any hole."

Dick Sand shook his head. His companions and he were hermetically

sequestered in this cone, perhaps submerged by the water.

"If there is no longer any hole," then said Hercules, "we must make

one."

"Wait," replied the young novice, stopping Hercules, who, hatchet in

hand, was preparing to dive.

Dick Sand reflected for a few moments, and then he said:

"We are going to proceed in another manner. The whole question is to

know whether the water covers the ant-hill or not. If we make a small

opening at the summit of the cone, we shall find out which it is. But

in case the ant-hill should be submerged now, the water would fill it

entirely, and we would be lost. Let us feel our way."

"But quickly," replied Tom.

In fact, the level continued to rise gradually. There were then six

feet of water inside the cone. With the exception of Mrs. Weldon,

her son, Cousin Benedict, and Nan, who had taken refuge in the upper

cavities, all were immersed to the waist.

Then there was a necessity for quick action, as Dick Sand proposed.

It was one foot above the interior level, consequently seven feet from

the ground, that Dick Sand resolved to pierce a hole in the clay wall.

If, by this hole, they were in communication with the outer air, the

cone emerges. If, on the contrary, this hole was pierced below the

water level outside, the air would be driven inward, and in that case

they must stop it up at once, or the water would rise to its orifice.

Then they would commence again a foot higher, and so on. If, at last,

at the top, they did not yet find the outer air, it was because there

was a depth of more than fifteen feet of water in the plain, and that

the whole termite village had disappeared under the inundation. Then

what chance had the prisoners in the ant-hill to escape the most

terrible of deaths, death by slow asphyxia?

Dick Sand knew all that, but he did not lose his presence of mind for

a moment. He had closely calculated the consequences of the experiment

he wished to try. Besides, to wait longer was not possible. Asphyxia

was threatening in this narrow space, reduced every moment, in a

medium already saturated with carbonic acid.

The best tool Dick Sand could employ to pierce a hole through the wall

was a ramrod furnished with a screw, intended to draw the wadding from

a gun. By making it turn rapidly, this screw scooped out the clay like

an auger, and the hole was made little by little. Then it would not

have a larger diameter than that of the ramrod, but that would be

sufficient. The air could come through very well.

Hercules holding up the lantern lighted Dick Sand. They had some wax

candles to take its place, and they had not to fear lack of light from

that source.

A minute after the beginning of the operation, the ramrod went freely

through the wall. At once a rather dull noise was produced, resembling

that made by globules of air escaping through a column of water. The

air escaped, and, at the same moment, the level of the water rose in

the cone, and stopped at the height of the hole. This proved that they

had pierced too low--that is to say, below the liquid mass.

"Begin again," the young novice said, coolly, after rapidly stopping

the hole with a handful of clay.

The water was again stationary in the cone, but the reserved space had

diminished more than eight inches. Respiration became difficult, for

the oxygen was beginning to fail. They saw it also by the lantern's

light, which reddened and lost a part of its brightness.

One foot above the first hole, Dick Sand began at once to pierce a

second by the same process. If the experiment failed, the water would

rise still higher inside the cone--but that risk must be run.

While Dick Sand was working his auger, they heard Cousin Benedict cry

out, suddenly:

"Mercy! look--look--look why!"

Hercules raised his lantern and threw its light on Cousin Benedict,

whose face expressed the most perfect satisfaction.

"Yes," repeated he, "look why those intelligent termites have

abandoned the ant-hill! They had felt the inundation beforehand. Ah!

instinct, my friends, instinct. The termites are wiser than we are,

much wiser."

And that was all the moral Cousin Benedict drew from the situation.

At that moment Dick Sand drew out the ramrod, which had penetrated the

wall. A hissing was produced. The water rose another foot inside the

cone--the hole had not reached the open air outside.

The situation was dreadful. Mrs. Weldon, then almost reached by the

water, had raised little Jack in her arms. All were stifling in this

narrow space. Their ears buzzed.

The lantern only threw a faint light.

"Is the cone, then, entirely under water?" murmured Dick Sand.

He must know; and, in order to know, he must pierce a third hole, at

the very top.

But it was asphyxia, it was immediate death, if the result of this

last attempt should prove fruitless. The air remaining inside would

escape through the upper sheet of water, and the water would fill the

whole cone.

"Mrs. Weldon," then said Dick Sand, "you know the situation. If we

delay, respirable air will fail us. If the third attempt fails, water

will fill all this space. Our only chance is that the summit of the

cone is above the level of the inundation. We must try this last

experiment. Are you willing?"

"Do it, Dick!" replied Mrs. Weldon.

At that moment the lantern went out in that medium already unfit for

combustion. Mrs. Weldon and her companions were plunged in the most

complete darkness.

Dick Sand was perched on Hercules's shoulders. The latter was hanging

on to one of the lateral cavities. Only his head was above the bed of

water.

Mrs. Weldon, Jack, and Cousin Benedict were in the last story of

cells.

Dick Sand scratched the wall, and his ramrod pierced the clay rapidly.

In this place the wall, being thicker and harder also, was more

difficult to penetrate. Dick Sand hastened, not without terrible

anxiety, for by this narrow opening either life was going to penetrate

with the air, or with the water it was death.

Suddenly a sharp hissing was heard. The compressed air escaped--but a

ray of daylight filtered through the wall. The water only rose eight

inches, and stopped, without Dick Sand being obliged to close the

hole. The equilibrium was established between the level within and

that outside. The summit of the cone emerged. Mrs. Weldon and her

companions were saved.

At once, after a frantic hurra, in which Hercules's thundering voice

prevailed, the cutlasses were put to work. The summit, quickly

attacked, gradually crumbled. The hole was enlarged, the pure air

entered in waves, and with it the first rays of the rising sun. The

top once taken off the cone, it would be easy to hoist themselves on

to its wall, and they would devise means of reaching some neighboring

height, above all inundations.

Dick Sand first mounted to the summit of the cone.

A cry escaped him.

That particular noise, too well known by African travelers, the

whizzing of arrows, passed through the air.

Dick Sand had had time to perceive a camp a hundred feet from the

ant-hill, and ten feet from the cone, on the inundated plain, long

boats, filled with natives.

It was from one of those boats that the flight of arrows had come the

moment the young novice's head appeared out of the hole.

Dick Sand, in a word, had told all to his companions. Seizing his gun,

followed by Hercules, Acteon, and Bat, he reappeared at the summit of

the cone, and all fired on one of the boats.

Several natives fell, and yells, accompanied by shots, replied to the

detonation of the fire-arms.

But what could Dick Sand and his companions do against a hundred

Africans, who surrounded them on all sides?

The ant-hill was assailed. Mrs. Weldon, her child, and Cousin

Benedict, all were brutally snatched from it, and without having had

time to speak to each other or to shake hands for the last time, they

saw themselves separated from each other, doubtless in virtue of

orders previously given.

A last boat took away Mrs. Weldon, little Jack and Cousin Benedict.

Dick Sand saw them disappear in the middle of the camp.

As to him, accompanied by Nan, Old Tom, Hercules, Bat, Acteon and

Austin, he was thrown into a second boat, which went toward another

point of the hill.

Twenty natives entered this boat.

It was followed by five others.

Resistance was not possible, and nevertheless, Dick Sand and his

companions attempted it. Some soldiers of the caravan were wounded

by them, and certainly they would have paid for this resistance with

their lives, if there had not been a formal order to spare them.

In a few minutes, the passage was made. But just as the boat landed,

Hercules, with an irresistible bound, sprang on the ground. Two

natives having sprung on him, the giant turned his gun like a club,

and the natives fell, with their skulls broken.

A moment after, Hercules disappeared under the cover of the trees,

in the midst of a shower of balls, as Dick Sand and his companions,

having been put on land, were chained like slaves.

CHAPTER VII - IN CAMP ON THE BANKS OF THE COANZA.

The aspect of the country was entirely changed since the inundation.

It had made a lake of the plain where the termite village stood. The

cones of twenty ant-hills emerged, and formed the only projecting

points on this large basin.

The Coanza had overflowed during the night, with the waters of its

tributaries swelled by the storm.

This Coanza, one of the rivers of Angola, flows into the Atlantic, a

hundred miles from the cape where the "Pilgrim" was wrecked. It was

this river that Lieutenant Cameron had to cross some years later,

before reaching Benguela. The Coanza is intended to become the vehicle

for the interior transit of this portion of the Portuguese colony.

Already steamers ascend its lower course, and before ten years elapse,

they will ply over its upper bed. Dick Sand had then acted wisely in

seeking some navigable river toward the north. The rivulet he had

followed had just been emptied into the Coanza. Only for this sudden

attack, of which he had had no intimation to put him on his guard, he

would have found the Coanza a mile farther on. His companions and he

would have embarked on a raft, easily constructed, and they would have

had a good chance to descend the stream to the Portuguese villages,

where the steamers come into port. There, their safety would be

secured.

It would not be so.

The camp, perceived by Dick Sand, was established on an elevation near

the ant-hill, into which fate had thrown him, as in a trap. At the

summit of that elevation rose an enormous sycamore fig-tree, which

would easily shelter five hundred men under its immense branches.

Those who have not seen those giant trees of Central Africa, can form

no idea of them. Their branches form a forest, and one could be lost

in it. Farther on, great banyans, of the kind whose seeds do not

change into fruits, completed the outline of this vast landscape.

It was under the sycamore's shelter, hidden, as in a mysterious

asylum, that a whole caravan--the one whose arrival Harris had

announced to Negoro--had just halted. This numerous procession of

natives, snatched from their villages by the trader Alvez's agents,

were going to the Kazounde market. Thence the slaves, as needed, would

be sent either to the barracks of the west coast, or to N'yangwe,

toward the great lake region, to be distributed either in upper Egypt,

or in the factories of Zanzibar.

As soon as they arrived at the camp, Dick Sand and his companions had

been treated as slaves. Old Tom, his son Austin, Acteon, poor Nan,

negroes by birth, though they did not belong to the African race, were

treated like captive natives. After they were disarmed, in spite of

the strongest resistance, they were held by the throat, two by two, by

means of a pole six or seven feet long, forked at each end, and closed

by an iron rod. By this means they were forced to march in line, one

behind the other, unable to get away either to the right or to the

left. As an over precaution, a heavy chain was attached to their

waists. They had their arms free, to carry burdens, their feet free to

march, but they could not use them to flee. Thus they were going to

travel hundreds of miles under an overseer's lash. Placed apart,

overcome by the reaction which followed the first moments of their

struggle against the negroes, they no longer made a movement. Why had

they not been able to follow Hercules in his flight? And, meanwhile,

what could they hope for the fugitive? Strong as he was, what would

become of him in that inhospitable country, where hunger, solitude,

savage beasts, natives, all were against him? Would he not soon regret

his companion's fate? They, however, had no pity to expect from the

chiefs of the caravan, Arabs or Portuguese, speaking a language they

could not understand. These chiefs only entered into communication

with their prisoners by menacing looks and gestures.

Dick Sand himself was not coupled with any other slave. He was a white

man, and probably they had not dared to inflict the common treatment

on him. Unarmed, he had his feet and hands free, but a driver watched

him especially. He observed the camp, expecting each moment to see

Negoro or Harris appear. His expectation was in vain. He had no doubt,

however, that those two miserable men had directed the attack against

the ant-hill.

Thus the thought came to him that Mrs. Weldon, little Jack, and Cousin

Benedict had been led away separately by orders from the American or

from the Portuguese. Seeing neither one nor the other, he said to

himself that perhaps the two accomplices even accompanied their

victims. Where were they leading them? What would they do with them?

It was his most cruel care. Dick Sand forgot his own situation to

think only of Mrs. Weldon and hers.

The caravan, camped under the gigantic sycamore, did not count less

than eight hundred persons, say five hundred slaves of both sexes,

two hundred soldiers, porters, marauders, guards, drivers, agents, or

chiefs.

These chiefs were of Arab and Portugese origin. It would be difficult

to imagine the cruelties that these inhuman beings inflicted on their

captives. They struck them without relaxation, and those who fell

exhausted, not fit to be sold, were finished with gunshots or the

knife. Thus they hold them by terror. But the result of this system

is, that on the arrival of the caravan, fifty out of a hundred slaves

are missing from the trader's list. A few may have escaped, but the

bones of those who died from torture mark out the long routes from the

interior to the coast.

It is supposed that the agents of European origin, Portuguese for the

most part, are only rascals whom their country has rejected, convicts,

escaped prisoners, old slave-drivers whom the authorities have been

unable to hang--in a word, the refuse of humanity. Such was Negoro,

such was Harris, now in the service of one of the greatest contractors

of Central Africa, Jose-Antonio Alvez, well known by the traders of

the province, about whom Lieutenant Cameron has given some curious

information.

The soldiers who escort the captives are generally natives in the pay

of the traders. But the latter have not the monopoly of those raids

which procure the slaves for them. The negro kings also make atrocious

wars with each other, and with the same object. Then the vanquished

adults, the women and children, reduced to slavery, are sold by the

vanquishers for a few yards of calico, some powder, a few firearms,

pink or red pearls, and often even, as Livingstone says, in periods of

famine, for a few grains of maize.

The soldiers who escorted old Alvez's caravan might give a true idea

of what African armies are.

It was an assemblage of negro bandits, hardly clothed, who brandished

long flint-lock guns, the gun-barrels garnished with a great number of

copper rings. With such an escort, to which are joined marauders who

are no better, the agents often have all they can do. They dispute

orders, they insist on their own halting places and hours, they

threaten to desert, and it is not rare for the agents to be forced to

yield to the exactions of this soldiery.

Though the slaves, men or women, are generally subjected to carry

burdens while the caravan is on the march, yet a certain number of

porters accompany it. They are called more particularly "Pagazis," and

they carry bundles of precious objects, principally ivory. Such is the

size of these elephants' teeth sometimes, of which some weigh as much

as one hundred and sixty pounds, that it takes two of these "Pagazis"

to carry them to the factories. Thence this precious merchandise is

exported to the markets of Khartoum, of Zanzibar and Natal.

On arriving, these "Pagazis" are paid the price agreed upon. It

consists in twenty yards of cotton cloth, or of that stuff which bears

the name of "Merikani," a little powder, a handful of cowry (shells

very common in that country, which serve as money), a few pearls, or

even those of the slaves who would be difficult to sell. The slaves

are paid, when the trader has no other money.

Among the five hundred slaves that the caravan counted, there were

few grown men. That is because, the "Razzia" being finished and

the village set on fire, every native above forty is unmercifully

massacred and hung to a neighboring tree. Only the young adults of

both sexes and the children are intended to furnish the markets.

After these men-hunts, hardly a tenth of the vanquished survive. This

explains the frightful depopulation which changes vast territories of

equatorial Africa into deserts.

Here, the children and the adults were hardly clothed with a rag of

that bark stuff, produced by certain trees, and called "mbouzon" in

the country. Thus the state of this troop of human beings, women

covered with wounds from the "havildars'" whips, children ghastly

and meager, with bleeding feet, whom their mothers tried to carry in

addition to their burdens, young men closely riveted to the fork, more

torturing than the convict's chain, is the most lamentable that can be

imagined.

Yes, the sight of the miserable people, hardly living, whose voices

have no sound, ebony skeletons according to Livingstone's expression,

would touch the hearts of wild beasts. But so much misery did not

touch those hardened Arabs nor those Portuguese, who, according to

Lieutenant Cameron, are still more cruel. This is what Cameron says:

"To obtain these fifty women, of whom Alvez called himself proprietor,

ten villages had been destroyed, ten villages having each from one

hundred to two hundred souls: a total of fifteen hundred inhabitants.

Some had been able to escape, but the greater part--almost all--had

perished in the flames, had been killed in defending their families,

or had died of hunger in the jungle, unless the beasts of prey had

terminated their sufferings more promptly.

"Those crimes, perpetrated in the center of Africa by men who boast of

the name of Christians, and consider themselves Portuguese, would seem

incredible to the inhabitants of civilized countries. It is impossible

that the government of Lisbon knows the atrocities committed by people

who boast of being her subjects." --Tour of the World.

In Portugal there have been very warm protestations against these

assertions of Cameron's.

It need not be said that, during the marches, as during the halts, the

prisoners were very carefully guarded. Thus, Dick Sand soon understood

that he must not even attempt to get away. But then, how find Mrs.

Weldon again? That she and her child had been carried away by Negoro

was only too certain. The Portuguese had separated her from her

companions for reasons unknown as yet to the young novice. But he

could not doubt Negoro's intervention, and his heart was breaking at

the thought of the dangers of all kinds which threatened Mrs. Weldon.

"Ah!" he said to himself, "when I think that I have held those two

miserable men, both of them, at the end of my gun, and that I have not

killed them!"

This thought was one of those which returned most persistently to Dick

Sand's mind. What misfortunes the death, the just death of Harris and

Negoro might have prevented! What misery, at least, for those whom

these brokers in human flesh were now treating as slaves!

All the horror of Mrs. Weldon's and little Jack's situation now

represented itself to Dick Sand. Neither the mother nor the child

could count on Cousin Benedict. The poor man could hardly take care of

himself.

Doubtless they were taking all three to some district remote from the

province of Angola. But who was carrying the still sick child?

"His mother; yes, his mother," Dick Sand repeated to himself. "She

will have recovered strength for him; she will have done what these

unhappy female slaves do, and she will fall like them. Ah! may God put

me again in front of her executioners, and I--"

But he was a prisoner! He counted one head in this live-stock that the

overseers were driving to the interior of Africa. He did not even know

whether Negoro and Harris themselves were directing the convoy of

which their victims made a part. Dingo was no longer there to scent

the Portuguese, to announce his approach. Hercules alone might come to

the assistance of the unfortunate Mrs. Weldon. But was that miracle to

be hoped for?

However, Dick Sand fell back again on that idea. He said to himself

that the strong black man was free. Of his devotion there was no

doubt. All that a human being could do, Hercules would do in Mrs.

Weldon's interest. Yes, either Hercules would try to find them and put

himself in communication with them; or if that failed him, he would

endeavor to concert with him, Dick Sand, and perhaps carry him off,

deliver him by force. During the night halts, mingling with these

prisoners, black like them, could he not deceive the soldier's

vigilance, reach him, break his bonds, and lead him away into the

forest? And both of them, then free, what would they not do for Mrs.

Weldon's safety. A water course would enable them to descend to the

coast. Dick Sand would again take up that plan so unfortunately

prevented by the natives' attack, with new chances of success and a

greater knowledge of the difficulties.

The young novice thus alternated between fear and hope. In fact, he

resisted despair, thanks to his energetic nature, and held himself in

readiness to profit by the least chance that might offer itself to

him.

What he most desired to know was to what market the agents were taking

the convoy of slaves. Was it to one of the factories of Angola, and

would it be an affair of a few halting-places only, or would this

convoy travel for hundreds of miles still, across Central Africa? The

principal market of the contractors is that of N'yangwe, in Manyema,

on that meridian which divides the African continent into two almost

equal parts, there where extends the country of the great lakes, that

Livingstone was then traversing. But it was far from the camp on the

Coanza to that village. Months of travel would not suffice to reach

it.

That was one of Dick Sand's most serious thoughts; for, once at

N'yangwe, in case even Mrs. Weldon, Hercules, the other blacks and

he should succeed in escaping, how difficult it would be, not to say

impossible, to return to the seacoast, in the midst of the dangers of

such a long route.

But Dick Sand soon had reason to think that the convoy would soon

reach its destination. Though he did not understand the language

employed by the chiefs of the caravan, sometimes Arab, sometimes the

African idiom, he remarked that the name of an important market of

that region was often pronounced. It was the name Kazounde, and he

knew that a very great trade in slaves was carried on there. He was

then naturally led to believe that there the fate of the prisoners

would be decided, whether for the profit of the king of that district

or for the benefit of some rich trader of the country. We know that he

was not mistaken.

Now, Dick Sand, being posted in the facts of modern geography, knew

very exactly what is known of Kazounde. The distance from Saint

Paul de Loanda to this city does not exceed four hundred miles, and

consequently two hundred and fifty miles, at the most, separates

it from the camp established on the Coanza. Dick Sand made his

calculation approximately, taking the distance traveled by the

little troop under Harris's lead as the base. Now, under ordinary

circumstances, this journey would only require from ten to twelve

days. Doubling that time for the needs of a caravan already exhausted

by a long route, Dick Sand might estimate the length of the journey

from the Coanza to Kazounde at three weeks.

Dick Sand wished very much to impart what he believed he knew to Tom

and his companions. It would be a kind of consolation for them to be

assured that they were not being led to the center of Africa, into

those fatal countries which they could not hope to leave. Now, a few

words uttered in passing would be sufficient to enlighten them. Would

he succeed in saying those words?

Tom and Bat--chance had reunited the father and son--Acteon and

Austin, forked two by two, were at the right extremity of the camp. An

overseer and a dozen soldiers watched them.

Dick Sand, free in his movements, resolved to gradually diminish the

distance that separated him from his companions to fifty steps. He

then commenced to maneuver to that end.

Very likely old Tom divined Dick Sand's thought. A word, pronounced in

a low voice, warned his companions to be attentive. They did not stir,

but they kept themselves ready to see, as well as to hear.

Soon, with an indifferent air, Dick Sand had gained fifty steps more.

From the place where he then was, he could have called out, in such

a manner as to be heard, that name Kazounde, and tell them what

the probable length of the journey would be. But to complete his

instructions, and confer with them on their conduct during the

journey, would be still better. He then continued to draw nearer to

them. Already his heart was beating with hope; he was only a few

steps from the desired end, when the overseer, as if he had suddenly

penetrated his intention, rushed on him. At the cries of that enraged

person, ten soldiers ran to the spot, and Dick Sand was brutally led

back to the rear, while Tom and his companions were taken to the other

extremity of the camp.

Exasperated, Dick Sand had thrown himself upon the overseer. He had

ended by breaking his gun in his hands. He had almost succeeded in

snatching it from him. But seven or eight soldiers assailed him at

once, and force was used to secure him. Furious, they would have

massacred him, if one of the chiefs of the caravan, an Arab of great

height and ferocious physiognomy, had not intervened. This Arab was

the chief Ibn Hamis, of whom Harris had spoken. He pronounced a few

words which Dick Sand could not understand, and the soldiers, obliged

to release their prey, went away.

It was, then, very evident, for one thing, that there had been a

formal order not to allow the young novice to communicate with his

companions; and for another, that his life should not be taken.

Who could have given such orders, if not Harris or Negoro?

At that moment--it was nine o'clock in the morning, April 19th--the

harsh sounds from a "condou's" horn (a kind of ruminating animal among

the African deer) burst forth, and the drum was heard. The halt was

going to end.

All, chiefs, porters, soldiers, slaves, were immediately on foot.

Laden with their packs, several groups of captives were formed under

the leadership of an overseer, who unfurled a banner of bright colors.

The signal for departure was given. Songs then rose on the air; but

they were the vanquished, not the vanquishers, who sang thus.

This is what they said in these songs--a threatening expression of a

simple faith from the slaves against their oppressors--against their

executioners:

"You have sent me to the coast, but I shall be dead; I shall have a

yoke no longer, and I shall return to kill you."

CHAPTER VIII - SOME OF DICK SAND'S NOTES.

Though the storm of the day before had ceased, the weather was still

very unsettled. It was, besides, the period of the "masika," the

second period of the rainy season, under this zone of the African

heaven. The nights in particular would be rainy during one, two, or

three weeks, which could only increase the misery of the caravan.

It set out that day in cloudy weather, and, after quitting the banks

of the Coanza, made its way almost directly to the east. Fifty

soldiers marched at the head, a hundred on each of the two sides of

the convoy, the rest as a rear-guard. It would be difficult for the

prisoners to flee, even if they had not been chained. Women, children,

and men were going pell-mell, and the overseers urged them on with the

whip. There were unfortunate mothers who, nursing one child, held a

second by the hand that was free. Others dragged these little beings

along, without clothing, without shoes, on the sharp grasses of the

soil.

The chief of the caravan, that ferocious Ibn Hamis, who had interfered

in the struggle between Dick Sand and his overseer, watched this whole

troop, going backwards and forwards from the head to the foot of the

long column. If his agents and he troubled themselves but little about

the sufferings of their captives, they must reckon more seriously

either with the soldiers who claimed some additional rations, or with

the "pagazis" who wanted to halt. Thence discussions; often even an

exchange of brutality. The slaves suffered more from the overseers'

constant irritation. Nothing was heard but threats from one side, and

cries of grief from the other. Those who marched in the last ranks

treaded a soil that the first had stained with their blood.

Dick Sand's companions, always carefully kept in front of the convoy,

could have no communication with him. They advanced in file, the neck

held in the heavy fork, which did not permit a single head-movement.

The whips did not spare them any more than their sad companions in

misfortune.

Bat, coupled with his father, marched before him, taxing his ingenuity

not to shake the fork, choosing the best places to step on, because

old Tom must pass after him. From time to time, when the overseer was

a little behind, he uttered various words of encouragement, some of

which reached Tom. He even tried to retard his march, if he felt that

Tom was getting tired. It was suffering, for this good son to be

unable to turn his head towards his good father, whom he loved.

Doubtless, Tom had the satisfaction of seeing his son; however, he

paid dear for it. How many times great tears flowed from his eyes when

the overseer's whip fell upon Bat! It was a worse punishment than if

it had fallen on his own flesh.

Austin and Acteon marched a few steps behind, tied to each other, and

brutally treated every moment. Ah, how they envied Hercules's fate!

Whatever were the dangers that threatened the latter in that savage

country, he could at least use his strength and defend his life.

During the first moments of their captivity, old Tom had finally made

known the whole truth to his companions. They had learned from him, to

their profound astonishment, that they were in Africa; that Negoro's

and Harris's double treachery had first thrown them there, and then

led them away, and that no pity was to be expected from their masters.

Nan was not better treated. She made part of a group of women who

occupied the middle of the convoy. They had chained her with a young

mother of two children, one at the breast, the other aged three years,

who walked with difficulty. Nan, moved with pity, had burdened herself

with the little creature, and the poor slave had thanked her by a

tear. Nan then carried the infant, at the same time, sparing her the

fatigue, to which she would have yielded, and the blows the overseer

would have given her. But it was a heavy burden for old Nan. She felt

that her strength would soon fail her, and then she thought of little

Jack. She pictured him to herself in his mother's arms. Sickness had

wasted him very much, but he must be still heavy for Mrs. Weldon's

weakened arms. Where was she? What would become of her? Would her old

servant ever see her again?

Dick Sand had been placed almost in the rear of the convoy. He could

neither perceive Tom, nor his companions, nor Nan. The head of the

long caravan was only visible to him when it was crossing some plain.

He walked, a prey, to the saddest thoughts, from which the agents'

cries hardly drew his attention. He neither thought of himself, nor

the fatigues he must still support, nor of the tortures probably

reserved for him by Negoro. He only thought of Mrs. Weldon. In rain

he sought on the ground, on the brambles by the paths, on the lower

branches of the trees, to find some trace of her passage. She could

not have taken another road, if, as everything indicated, they

were leading her to Kazounde. What would he not give to find some

indication of her march to the destination where they themselves were

being led!

Such was the situation of the young novice and his companions in body

and mind. But whatever they might have to fear for themselves, great

as was their own sufferings, pity took possession of them on seeing

the frightful misery of that sad troop of captives, and the revolting

brutality of their masters. Alas! they could do nothing to succor the

afflicted, nothing to resist the others.

All the country situated east of the Coanza was only a forest for over

an extent of twenty miles. The trees, however, whether they perish

under the biting of the numerous insects of these countries, or

whether troops of elephants beat them down while they are still young,

are less crowded here than in the country next to the seacoast. The

march, then, under the trees, would not present obstacles. The shrubs

might be more troublesome than the trees. There was, in fact, an

abundance of those cotton-trees, seven to eight feet high, the cotton

of which serves to manufacture the black and white striped stuffs used

in the interior of the province.

In certain places, the soil transformed itself into thick jungles, in

which the convoy disappeared. Of all the animals of the country,

the elephants and giraffes alone were taller than those reeds which

resemble bamboos, those herbs, the stalks of which measure an inch in

diameter. The agents must know the country marvelously well, not to be

lost in these jungles.

Each day the caravan set out at daybreak, and only halted at midday

for an hour. Some packs containing tapioca were then opened, and this

food was parsimoniously distributed to the slaves. To this potatoes

were added, or goat's meat and veal, when the soldiers had pillaged

some village in passing. But the fatigue had been such, the repose so

insufficient, so impossible even during these rainy nights, that when

the hour for the distribution of food arrived the prisoners could

hardly eat. So, eight days after the departure from the Coanza, twenty

had fallen by the way, at the mercy of the beasts that prowled behind

the convoy. Lions, panthers and leopards waited for the victims which

could not fail them, and each evening after sunset their roaring

sounded at such a short distance that one might fear a direct attack.

On hearing those roars, rendered more formidable by the darkness,

Dick Sand thought with terror of the obstacles such encounters would

present against Hercules's enterprise, of the perils that menaced each

of his steps. And meanwhile if he himself should find an opportunity

to flee, he would not hesitate.

Here are some notes taken by Dick Sand during this journey from the

Coanza to Kazounde. Twenty-five "marches" were employed to make this

distance of two hundred and fifty miles, the "march" in the traders'

language being ten miles, halting by day and night.

From 25th to 27th April.--Saw a village surrounded by walls of

reeds, eight or nine feet high. Fields cultivated with maize, beans,

"sorghas" and various arachides. Two blacks seized and made prisoners.

Fifteen killed. Population fled.

The next day crossed an impetuous river, one hundred and fifty yards

wide. Floating bridge, formed of trunks of trees, fastened with

lianes. Piles half broken. Two women, tied to the same fork,

precipitated into the water. One was carrying her little child. The

waters are disturbed and become stained with blood. Crocodiles glide

between the parts of the bridge. There is danger of stepping into

their open mouths.

April 28th.--Crossed a forest of bauhiniers. Trees of straight

timber--those which furnish the iron wood for the Portuguese.

Heavy rain. Earth wet. March extremely painful.

Perceived, toward the center of the convoy, poor Nan, carrying

a little negro child in her arms. She drags herself along with

difficulty. The slave chained with her limps, and the blood flows from

her shoulder, torn by lashes from the whip.

In the evening camped under an enormous baobab with white flowers and

a light green foliage.

During the night roars of lions and leopards. Shots fired by one of

the natives at a panther. What has become of Hercules?

April 29th and 30th.--First colds of what they call the African

winter. Dew very abundant. End of the rainy season with the month of

April; it commences with the month of November. Plains still largely

inundated. East winds which check perspiration and renders one more

liable to take the marsh fevers.

No trace of Mrs. Weldon, nor of Mr. Benedict. Where would they take

them, if not to Kazounde? They must have followed the road of the

caravan and preceded us. I am eaten up with anxiety. Little Jack must

be seized again with the fever in this unhealthy region. But does he

still live?

From May 1st to May 6th.--Crossed, with several halting-places,

long plains, which evaporation has not been able to dry up. Water

everywhere up to the waist. Myriads of leeches adhering to the skin.

We must march for all that. On some elevations that emerge are lotus

and papyrus. At the bottom, under the water, other plants, with large

cabbage leaves, on which the feet slip, which occasions numerous

falls.

In these waters, considerable quantities of little fish of the silurus

species. The natives catch them by billions in wickers and sell them

to the caravans.

Impossible to find a place to camp for the night. We see no limit to

the inundated plain. We must march in the dark. To-morrow many slaves

will be missing from the convoy. What misery! When one falls, why get

up again? A few moments more under these waters, and all would be

finished. The overseer's stick would not reach you in the darkness.

Yes, but Mrs. Weldon and her son! I have not the right to abandon

them. I shall resist to the end. It is my duty.

Dreadful cries are heard in the night. Twenty soldiers have torn some

branches from resinous trees whose branches were above water. Livid

lights in the darkness.

This is the cause of the cries I heard. An attack of crocodiles;

twelve or fifteen of those monsters have thrown themselves in the

darkness on the flank of the caravan.

Women and children have been seized and carried away by the crocodiles

to their "pasture lands"--so Livingstone calls those deep holes where

this amphibious animal deposits its prey, after having drowned it, for

it only eats it when it has reached a certain degree of decomposition.

I have been rudely grazed by the scales of one of these crocodiles. An

adult slave has been seized near me and torn from the fork that held

him by the neck. The fork was broken. What a cry of despair! What a

howl of grief! I hear it still!

May 7th and 8th.--The next day they count the victims. Twenty slaves

have disappeared.

At daybreak I look for Tom and his companions. God be praised! they

are living. Alas! ought I to praise God? Is one not happier to be done

with all this misery!

Tom is at the head of the convoy. At a moment when his son Bat made a

turn, the fork was presented obliquely, and Tom was able to see me.

I search in vain for old Nan. Is she in the central group? or has she

perished during that frightful night?

The next day, passed the limit of the inundated plain, after

twenty-four hours in the water. We halt on a hill. The sun dries us

a little. We eat, but what miserable food! A little tapioca, a few

handfuls of maize. Nothing but the troubled water to drink. Prisoners

extended on the ground--how many will not get up!

No! it is not possible that Mrs. Weldon and her son have passed

through so much misery! God would be so gracious to them as to have

them led to Kazounde by another road. The unhappy mother could not

resist.

New case of small-pox in the caravan; the "ndoue," as they say. The

sick could not be able to go far. Will they abandon them?

May 9th.--They have begun the march again at sunrise. No laggards.

The overseer's whip has quickly raised those overcome by fatigue or

sickness. Those slaves have a value; they are money. The agents will

not leave them behind while they have strength enough to march.

I am surrounded by living skeletons. They have no longer voice enough

to complain. I have seen old Nan at last. She is a sad sight. The

child she was carrying is no longer in her arms. She is alone, too.

That will be less painful for her; but the chain is still around her

waist, and she has been obliged to throw the end over her shoulder.

By hastening, I have been able to draw near her. One would say that

she did not recognize me. Am I, then, changed to that extent?

"Nan," I said.

The old servant looked at me a long time, and then she exclaimed:

"You, Mr. Dick! I--I--before long I shall be dead!"

"No, no! Courage!" I replied, while my eyes fell so as not to see what

was only the unfortunate woman's bloodless specter.

"Dead!" she continued; "and I shall not see my dear mistress again,

nor my little Jack. My God! my God! have pity on me!"

I wished to support old Nan, whose whole body trembled under her torn

clothing. It would have been a mercy to see myself tied to her, and

to carry my part of that chain, whose whole weight she bore since her

companion's death.

A strong arm pushes me back, and the unhappy Nan is thrown back into

the crowd of slaves, lashed by the whips. I wished to throw myself on

that brutal----The Arab chief appears, seizes my arm, and holds me

till I find myself again in the caravan's last rank.

Then, in his turn, he pronounces the name, "Negoro!"

Negoro! It is then by the Portuguese's orders that he acts and treats

me differently from my companions in misfortune?

For what fate am I reserved?

May 10th.--To-day passed near two villages in flames. The stubble

burns on all sides. Dead bodies are hung from the trees the fire has

spared. Population fled.

Fields devastated. The razzie is exercised there. Two hundred

murders, perhaps, to obtain a dozen slaves.

Evening has arrived. Halt for the night. Camp made under great trees.

High shrubs forming a thicket on the border of the forest.

Some prisoners fled the night before, after breaking their forks.

They have been retaken, and treated with unprecedented cruelty. The

soldiers' and overseers' watchfulness is redoubled.

Night has come. Roaring of lions and hyenas, distant snorting of

hippopotami. Doubtless some lake or watercourse near.

In spite of my fatigue, I cannot sleep. I think of so many things.

Then, it seems to me that I hear prowling in the high grass. Some

animal, perhaps. Would it dare force an entrance into the camp?

I listen. Nothing! Yes! An animal is passing through the reeds. I am

unarmed! I shall defend myself, nevertheless. My life may be useful to

Mrs. Weldon, to my companions.

I look through the profound darkness. There is no moon. The night is

extremely dark.

Two eyes shine in the darkness, among the papyrus--two eyes of a hyena

or a leopard. They disappear--reappear.

At last there is a rustling of the bushes. An animal springs upon me!

I am going to cry out, to give the alarm. Fortunately, I was able to

restrain myself. I cannot believe my eyes! It is Dingo! Dingo, who is

near me! Brave Dingo! How is it restored to me? How has it been able

to find me again? Ah! instinct! Would instinct be sufficient to

explain such miracles of fidelity? It licks my hands. Ah! good dog,

now my only friend, they have not killed you, then!

It understands me.

I return its caresses.

It wants to bark.

I calm it. It must not be heard.

Let it follow the caravan in this way, without being seen, and

perhaps----But what! It rubs its neck obstinately against my hands. It

seems to say to me: "Look for something." I look, and I feel something

there, fastened to its neck. A piece of reed is slipped under the

collar, on which are graven those two letters, S.V., the mystery of

which is still inexplicable to us.

Yes. I have unfastened the reed. I have broken it! There is a

letter inside. But this letter--I cannot read it. I must wait for

daylight!--daylight! I should like to keep Dingo; but the good

animal, even while licking my hands, seems in a hurry to leave me. It

understands that its mission is finished. With one bound aside, it

disappears among the bushes without noise. May God spare it from the

lions' and hyenas' teeth!

Dingo has certainly returned to him who sent it to me.

This letter, that I cannot yet read, burns my hands! Who has written

it? Would it come from Mrs. Weldon? Does it come from Hercules? How

has the faithful animal, that we believed dead, met either the one

or the other? What is this letter going to tell me? Is it a plan of

escape that it brings me? Or does it only give me news of those dear

to me? Whatever it may be, this incident has greatly moved me, and has

relaxed my misery.

Ah! the day comes so slowly. I watch for the least light on the

horizon. I cannot close my eyes. I still hear the roaring of the

animals. My poor Dingo, can you escape them? At last day is going to

appear, and almost without dawn, under these tropical latitudes.

I settle myself so as not to be seen. I try to read--I cannot yet. At

last I have read. The letter is from Hercules's hand. It is written on

a bit of paper, in pencil. Here is what it says:

"Mrs. Weldon was taken away with little Jack in a kitanda.

Harris and Negoro accompany it. They precede the caravan by three

or four marches, with Cousin Benedict. I have not been able to

communicate with her. I have found Dingo, who must have been

wounded by a shot, but cured. Good hope, Mr. Dick. I only think of

you all, and I fled to be more useful to you. HERCULES."

Ah! Mrs. Weldon and her son are living. God be praised! They have not

to suffer the fatigues of these rude halting-places. A kitanda--it

is a kind of litter of dry grass, suspended to a long bamboo, that two

men carry on the shoulder. A stuff curtain covers it over. Mrs. Weldon

and her little Jack are in that kitanda. What does Harris and Negoro

want to do with them? Those wretches are evidently going to Kazounde.

Yes, yes, I shall find them again. Ah! in all this misery it is good

news, it is joy that Dingo has brought me!

From May 11th to 15th.--The caravan continues its march. The

prisoners drag themselves along more and more painfully. The majority

have marks of blood under their feet. I calculate that it will take

ten days more to reach Kazounde. How many will have ceased to suffer

before then? But I--I must arrive there, I shall arrive there.

It is atrocious! There are, in the convoy, unfortunate ones whose

bodies are only wounds. The cords that bind them enter into the flesh.

Since yesterday a mother carries in her arms her little infant, dead

from hunger. She will not separate from it.

Our route is strewn with dead bodies. The smallpox rages with new

violence.

We have just passed near a tree. To this tree slaves were attached by

the neck. They were left there to die of hunger.

From May 16th to 24th.--I am almost exhausted, but I have no right

to give up. The rains have entirely ceased. We have days of "hard

marching." That is what the traders call the "tirikesa," or afternoon

march. We must go faster, and the ground rises in rather steep

ascents.

We pass through high shrubs of a very tough kind. They are the

"nyassi," the branches of which tear the skin off my face, whose sharp

seeds penetrate to my skin, under my dilapidated clothes. My strong

boots have fortunately kept good.

The agents have commenced to abandon the slaves too sick to keep up.

Besides, food threatens to fail; soldiers and pagazis would revolt

if their rations were diminished. They dare not retrench from them,

and then so much worse for the captives.

"Let them eat one another!" said the chief.

Then it follows that young slaves, still strong, die without the

appearance of sickness. I remember what Dr. Livingstone has said on

that subject: "Those unfortunates complain of the heart; they put

their hands there, and they fall. It is positively the heart

that breaks! That is peculiar to free men, reduced to slavery

unexpectedly!"

To-day, twenty captives who could no longer drag themselves along,

have been massacred with axes, by the havildars! The Arab chief is

not opposed to massacre. The scene has been frightful!

Poor old Nan has fallen under the knife, in this horrible butchery!

I strike against her corpse in passing! I cannot even give her a

Christian burial! She is first of the "Pilgrim's" survivors whom God

has called back to him. Poor good creature! Poor Nan!

I watch for Dingo every night. It returns no more! Has misfortune

overtaken it or Hercules? No! no! I do not want to believe it! This

silence, which appears so long to me, only proves one thing--it is

that Hercules has nothing new to tell me yet. Besides, he must be

prudent, and on his guard.

*       *       *       *       *

CHAPTER IX - KAZOUNDE.

ON May 26th, the caravan of slaves arrived at Kazounde. Fifty per

cent. of the prisoners taken in the last raid had fallen on the road.

Meanwhile, the business was still good for the traders; demands were

coming in, and the price of slaves was about to rise in the African

markets.

Angola at this period did an immense trade in blacks. The Portuguese

authorities of St. Paul de Loanda, or of Benguela, could not stop it

without difficulty, for the convoys traveled towards the interior

of the African continent. The pens near the coast overflowed with

prisoners, the few slavers that succeeded in eluding the cruisers

along the shore not being sufficient to carry all of them to the

Spanish colonies of America.

Kazounde, situated three hundred miles from the mouth of the Coanza,

is one of the principal "lakonis," one of the most important markets

of the province. On its grand square the "tchitoka" business is

transacted; there, the slaves are exposed and sold. It is from this

point that the caravans radiate toward the region of the great lakes.

Kazounde, like all the large towns of Central Africa, is divided into

two distinct parts. One is the quarter of the Arab, Portuguese or

native traders, and it contains their pens; the other is the residence

of the negro king, some ferocious crowned drunkard, who reigns through

terror, and lives from supplies furnished by the contractors.

At Kazounde, the commercial quarter then belonged to that Jose-Antonio

Alvez, of whom Harris and Negoro had spoken, they being simply agents

in his pay. This contractor's principal establishment was there, he

had a second at Bihe, and a third at Cassange, in Benguela, which

Lieutenant Cameron visited some years later.

Imagine a large central street, on each side groups of houses,

"tembes," with flat roofs, walls of baked earth, and a square court

which served as an enclosure for cattle. At the end of the street was

the vast "tchitoka" surrounded by slave-pens. Above this collection

of buildings rose some enormous banyans, whose branches swayed with

graceful movements. Here and there great palms, with their heads in

the air, drove the dust on the streets like brooms. Twenty birds of

prey watched over the public health. Such is the business quarter of

Kazounde.

Near by ran the Louhi, a river whose course, still undetermined, is an

affluent, or at least a sub-affluent, of the Coango, a tributary of

the Zoire.

The residence of the King of Kazounde, which borders on the business

quarter, is a confused collection of ill-built hovels, which spread

over the space of a mile square. Of these hovels, some are open,

others are inclosed by a palisade of reeds, or bordered with a hedge

of fig-trees. In one particular enclosure, surrounded by a fence of

papyrus, thirty of these huts served us dwellings for the chief's

slaves, in another group lived his wives, and a "tembe," still larger

and higher, was half hidden in a plantation of cassada. Such was

the residence of the King of Kazounde, a man of fifty--named Moini

Loungga; and already almost deprived of the power of his predecessors.

He had not four thousand of soldiers there, where the principal

Portuguese traders could count twenty thousand, and he could no

longer, as in former times, decree the sacrifice of twenty-five or

thirty slaves a day.

This king was, besides, a prematurely-aged man, exhausted by debauch,

crazed by strong drink, a ferocious maniac, mutilating his subjects,

his officers or his ministers, as the whim seized him, cutting the

nose and ears off some, and the foot or the hand from others. His own

death, not unlooked for, would be received without regret.

A single man in all Kazounde might, perhaps, lose by the death of

Moini Loungga. This was the contractor, Jose-Antonio Alvez, who agreed

very well with the drunkard, whose authority was recognized by the

whole province. If the accession of his first wife, Queen Moini,

should be contested, the States of Moini Loungga might be invaded by

a neighboring competitor, one of the kings of Oukonson. The latter,

being younger and more active, had already seized some villages

belonging to the Kazounde government. He had in his services another

trader, a rival of Alvez Tipo-Tipo, a black Arab of a pure race, whom

Cameron met at N'yangwe.

What was this Alvez, the real sovereign under the reign of an imbruted

negro, whose vices he had developed and served?

Jose-Antonio Alvez, already advanced in years, was not, as one might

suppose, a "msoungou," that is to say, a man of the white race. There

was nothing Portuguese about him but his name, borrowed, no doubt, for

the needs of commerce. He was a real negro, well known among traders,

and called Kenndele. He was born, in fact, at Donndo, or the borders

of the Coanza. He had commenced by being simply the agent of the

slave-brokers, and would have finished as a famous trader, that is to

say, in the skin of an old knave, who called himself the most honest

man in the world.

Cameron met this Alvez in the latter part of 1874, at Kilemmba, the

capital of Kassonngo, chief of Ouroua. He guided Cameron with his

caravan to his own establishment at Bihe, over a route of seven

hundred miles. The convoy of slaves, on arriving at Kazounde, had been

conducted to the large square.

It was the 26th of May. Dick Sand's calculations were then verified.

The journey had lasted thirty-eight days from the departure of the

army encamped on the banks of the Coanza. Five weeks of the most

fearful miseries that human beings could support.

It was noon when the train entered Kazounde. The drums were beaten,

horns were blown in the midst of the detonations of fire-arms. The

soldiers guarding the caravan discharged their guns in the air, and

the men employed by Jose-Antonio Alvez replied with interest. All

these bandits were happy at meeting again, after an absence which had

lasted for four months. They were now going to rest and make up for

lost time in excesses and idleness.

The prisoners then formed a total of two hundred and fifty, the

majority being completely exhausted. After having been driven like

cattle, they were to be shut up in pens, which American farmers would

not have used for pigs. Twelve or fifteen hundred other captives

awaited them, all of whom would be exposed in the market at Kazounde

on the next day but one. These pens were filled up with the slaves

from the caravan. The heavy forks had been taken off them, but they

were still in chains.

The "pagazis" had stopped on the square after having disposed of their

loads of ivory, which the Kazounde dealers would deliver. Then, being

paid with a few yards of calico or other stuff at the highest price,

they would return and join some other caravan.

Old Tom and his companions had been freed from the iron collar which

they had carried for five weeks. Bat and his father embraced each

other, and all shook hands; but no one ventured to speak. What could

they say that would not be an expression of despair. Bat, Acteon and

Austin, all three vigorous, accustomed to hard work, had been able

to resist fatigue; but old Tom, weakened by privations, was nearly

exhausted. A few more days and his corpse would have been left, like

poor Nan's, as food for the beasts of the province.

As soon as they arrived, the four men had been placed in a narrow pen,

and the door had been at once shut upon them. There they had found

some food, and they awaited the trader's visit, with whom, although

quite in vain, they intended to urge the fact that they were

Americans.

Dick Sand had remained alone on the square, under the special care of

a keeper.

At length he was at Kazounde, where he did not doubt that Mrs. Weldon,

little Jack, and Cousin Benedict had preceded him. He had looked for

them in crossing the various quarters of the town, even in the depths

of the "tembes" that lined the streets, on this "tchitoka" now almost

deserted.

Mrs. Weldon was not there.

"Have they not brought her here?" he asked himself. "But where could

she be? No; Hercules cannot be mistaken. Then, again, he must have

learned the secret designs of Negoro and Harris; yet they, too--I do

not see them."

Dick Sand felt the most painful anxiety. He could understand that Mrs.

Weldon, retained a prisoner, would be concealed from him. But Harris

and Negoro, particularly the latter, should hasten to see him, now in

their power, if only to enjoy their triumph--to insult him, torture

him, perhaps avenge themselves. From the fact that they were not

there, must he conclude that they had taken another direction, and

that Mrs. Weldon was to be conducted to some other point of Central

Africa? Should the presence of the American and the Portuguese be the

signal for his punishment, Dick Sand impatiently desired it. Harris

and Negoro at Kazounde, was for him the certainty that Mrs. Weldon and

her child were also there.

Dick Sand then told himself that, since the night when Dingo had

brought him Hercules's note, the dog had not been seen. The young man

had prepared an answer at great risks. In it he told Hercules to

think only of Mrs. Weldon, not to lose sight of her, and to keep her

informed as well as possible of what happened; but he had not been

able to send it to its destination. If Dingo had been able to

penetrate the ranks of the caravan once, why did not Hercules let

him try it a second time? Had the faithful animal perished in some

fruitless attempt? Perhaps Hercules was following Mrs. Weldon, as Dick

Sand would have done in his place. Followed by Dingo, he might have

plunged into the depths of the woody plateau of Africa, in the hope of

reaching one of the interior establishments.

What could Dick Sand imagine if, in fact, neither Mrs. Weldon nor her

enemies were there? He had been so sure, perhaps foolishly, of finding

them at Kazounde, that not to see them there at once gave him a

terrible shock. He felt a sensation of despair that he could not

subdue. His life, if it were no longer useful to those whom he loved,

was good for nothing, and he had only to die. But, in thinking in that

manner, Dick Sand mistook his own character. Under the pressure of

these trials, the child became a man, and with him discouragement

could only be an accidental tribute paid to human nature.

A loud concert of trumpet-calls and cries suddenly commenced. Dick

Sand, who had just sunk down in the dust of the "tchitoka," stood up.

Every new incident might put him on the track of those whom he sought.

In despair a moment before, he now no longer despaired.

"Alvez! Alvez!" This name was repeated by a crowd of natives and

soldiers who now invaded the grand square. The man on whom the fate

of so many unfortunate people depended was about to appear. It was

possible that his agents, Harris and Negoro, were with him. Dick Sand

stood upright, his eyes open, his nostrils dilated. The two traitors

would find this lad of fifteen years before them, upright, firm,

looking them in the face. It would not be the captain of the "Pilgrim"

who would tremble before the old ship's cook.

A hammock, a kind of "kitanda" covered by an old patched curtain,

discolored, fringed with rags, appeared at the end of the principal

street. An old negro descended. It was the trader, Jose-Antonio Alvez.

Several attendants accompanied him, making strong demonstrations.

Along with Alvez appeared his friend Coimbra, the son of Major Coimbra

of Bihe, and, according to Lieutenant Cameron, the greatest scamp in

the province. He was a dirty creature, his breast was uncovered, his

eyes were bloodshot, his hair was rough and curly, his face yellow;

he was dressed in a ragged shirt and a straw petticoat. He would have

been called a horrible old man in his tattered straw hat. This Coimbra

was the confidant, the tool of Alvez, an organizer of raids, worthy of

commanding the trader's bandits.

As for the trader, he might have looked a little less sordid than his

attendant. He wore the dress of an old Turk the day after a carnival.

He did not furnish a very high specimen of the factory chiefs who

carry on the trade on a large scale.

To Dick Sand's great disappointment, neither Harris nor Negoro

appeared in the crowd that followed Alvez. Must he, then, renounce all

hope of finding them at Kazounde?

Meanwhile, the chief of the caravan, the Arab, Ibn Hamis, shook hands

with Alvez and Coimbra. He received numerous congratulations. Alvez

made a grimace at the fifty per cent. of slaves failing in the general

count, but, on the whole, the affair was very satisfactory. With

what the trader possessed of human merchandise in his pens, he could

satisfy the demands from the interior, and barter slaves for ivory

teeth and those "hannas" of copper, a kind of St. Andrew's cross, in

which form this metal is carried into the center of Africa.

The overseers were also complimented. As for the porters, the trader

gave orders that their salary should be immediately paid them.

Jose-Antonio Alvez and Coimbra spoke a kind of Portuguese mingled

with a native idiom, which a native of Lisbon would scarcely have

understood. Dick Sand could not hear what these merchants were saying.

Were they talking of him and his companions, so treacherously joined

to the persons in the convoy? The young man could not doubt it, when,

at a gesture from the Arab, Ibn Hamis, an overseer, went toward the

pen where Tom, Austin, Bat and Acteon had been shut up.

Almost immediately the four Americans were led before Alvez.

Dick Sand slowly approached. He wished to lose nothing of this scene.

Alvez's face lit up at the sight of these few well-made blacks, to

whom rest and more abundant food had promptly restored their natural

vigor. He looked with contempt at old Tom, whose age would affect his

value, but the other three would sell high at the next Kazounde sale.

Alvez remembered a few English words which some agents, like the

American, Harris, had taught him, and the old monkey thought he would

ironically welcome his new slaves.

Tom understood the trader's words; he at once advanced, and, showing

his companions, said:

"We are free men--citizens of the United States."

Alvez certainly understood him; he replied with a good-humored

grimace, wagging his head:

"Yes, yes, Americans! Welcome, welcome!"

"Welcome," added Coimbra.

He advanced toward Austin, and like a merchant who examines a sample,

after having felt his chest and his shoulders, he wanted to make him

open his mouth, so as to see his teeth.

But at this moment Signor Coimbra received in his face the worst blow

that a major's son had ever caught.

Alvez's confidant staggered under it.

Several soldiers threw themselves on Austin, who would perhaps pay

dearly for this angry action.

Alvez stopped them by a look. He laughed, indeed, at the misfortune

of his friend, Coimbra, who had lost two of the five or six teeth

remaining to him.

Alvez did not intend to have his merchandise injured. Then, he was of

a gay disposition, and it was a long time since he had laughed so

much.

Meanwhile, he consoled the much discomfited Coimbra, and the latter,

helped to his feet, again took his place near the trader, while

throwing a menacing look at the audacious Austin.

At this moment Dick Sand, driven forward by an overseer, was led

before Alvez.

The latter evidently knew all about the young man, whence he came, and

how he had been taken to the camp on the Coanza.

So he said, after having given him an evil glance:

"The little Yankee!"

"Yes, Yankee!" replied Dick Sand. "What do they wish to do with my

companions and me?"

"Yankee! Yankee! Yankee!" repeated Alvez.

Did he not or would he not understand the question put to him?

A second time Dick Sand asked the question regarding his companions

and himself. He then turned to Coimbra, whose features, degraded as

they were by the abuse of alcoholic liquors, he saw were not of native

origin.

Coimbra repeated the menacing gesture already made at Austin, and did

not answer.

During this time Alvez talked rapidly with the Arab, Ibn Hamis, and

evidently of things that concerned Dick Sand and his friends.

No doubt they were to be again separated, and who could tell if

another chance to exchange a few words would ever again be offered

them.

"My friends," said Dick, in a low voice, and as if he were only

speaking to himself, "just a few words! I have received, by Dingo, a

letter from Hercules. He has followed the caravan. Harris and Negoro

took away Mrs. Weldon, Jack, and Mr. Benedict. Where? I know not, if

they are not here at Kazounde. Patience! courage! Be ready at any

moment. God may yet have pity on us!"

"And Nan?" quickly asked old Tom.

"Nan is dead!"

"The first!"

"And the last!" replied Dick Sand, "for we know well----"

At this moment a hand was laid on his shoulder, and he heard these

words, spoken in the amiable voice which he knew only too well:

"Ah, my young friend, if I am not mistaken! Enchanted to see you

again!"

Dick Sand turned.

Harris was before him.

"Where is Mrs. Weldon?" cried Dick Sand, walking toward the American.

"Alas!" replied Harris, pretending a pity that he did not feel, "the

poor mother! How could she survive!"

"Dead!" cried Dick Sand. "And her child?"

"The poor baby!" replied Harris, in the same tone, "how could he

outlive such fatigue!"

So, all whom Dick Sand loved were dead!

What passed within him? An irresistible movement of anger, a desire

for vengeance, which he must satisfy at any price!

Dick Sand jumped upon Harris, seized a dagger from the American's

belt, and plunged it into his heart.

"Curse you!" cried Harris, falling.

Harris was dead.

CHAPTER X - THE GREAT MARKET DAY.

Dick Sand's action had been so rapid that no one could stop him. A few

natives threw themselves upon him, and he would have been murdered had

not Negoro appeared.

At a sign from the Portuguese, the natives drew back, raised Harris's

corpse and carried it away. Alvez and Coimbra demanded Dick Sand's

immediate death, but Negoro said to them in a low voice that they

would lose nothing by waiting. The order was given to take away the

young novice, with a caution not to lose sight of him for a moment.

Dick Sand had seen Negoro for the first time since their departure

from the coast. He knew that this wretch was alone responsible for

the loss of the "Pilgrim." He ought to hate him still more than his

accomplices. And yet, after having struck the American, he scorned to

address a word to Negoro. Harris had said that Mrs. Weldon and her

child had succumbed. Nothing interested him now, not even what they

would do with him. They would send him away. Where? It did not matter.

Dick Sand, heavily chained, was left on the floor of a pen without a

window, a kind of dungeon where the trader, Alvez, shut up the slaves

condemned to death for rebellion or unlawful acts. There he could no

longer have any communication with the exterior; he no longer dreamed

of regretting it. He had avenged those whom he loved, who no longer

lived. Whatever fate awaited him, he was ready for it.

It will be understood that if Negoro had stopped the natives who were

about to punish Harris's murderer, it was only because he wished to

reserve Dick Sand for one of those terrible torments of which the

natives hold the secret. The ship's cook held in his power the captain

of fifteen years. He only wanted Hercules to make his vengeance

complete.

Two days afterward, May 28th, the sale began, the great "lakoni,"

during which the traders of the principal factories of the interior

would meet the natives of the neighboring provinces. This market was

not specially for the sale of slaves, but all the products of this

fertile Africa would be gathered there with the producers.

From early morning all was intense animation on the vast "tchitoka" of

Kazounde, and it is difficult to give a proper idea of the scene. It

was a concourse of four or five thousand persons, including Alvez's

slaves, among whom were Tom and his companions. These four men, for

the reason that they belonged to a different race, are all the more

valuable to the brokers in human flesh. Alvez was there, the first

among all. Attended by Coimbra, he offered the slaves in lots. These

the traders from the interior would form into caravans. Among these

traders were certain half-breeds from Oujiji, the principal market

of Lake Tanganyika, and some Arabs, who are far superior to the

half-breeds in this kind of trade.

The natives flocked there in great numbers. There were children, men,

and women, the latter being animated traders, who, as regards a genius

for bargaining, could only be compared to their white sisters.

In the markets of large cities, even on a great day of sale, there is

never much noise or confusion. Among the civilized the need of selling

exceeds the desire to buy. Among these African savages offers are made

with as much eagerness as demands.

The "lakoni" is a festival day for the natives of both sexes, and if

for good reasons they do not put on their best clothes, they at least

wear their handsomest ornaments.

Some wear the hair divided in four parts, covered with cushions, and

in plaits tied like a chignon or arranged in pan-handles on the front

of the head with bunches of red feathers. Others have the hair in bent

horns sticky with red earth and oil, like the red lead used to close

the joints of machines. In these masses of real or false hair is worn

a bristling assemblage of skewers, iron and ivory pins, often even,

among elegant people, a tattooing-knife is stuck in the crisp mass,

each hair of which is put through a "sofi" or glass bead, thus forming

a tapestry of different-colored grains. Such are the edifices most

generally seen on the heads of the men.

The women prefer to divide their hair in little tufts of the size of

a cherry, in wreaths, in twists the ends of which form designs in

relief, and in corkscrews, worn the length of the face. A few, more

simple and perhaps prettier, let their long hair hang down the back,

in the English style, and others wear it cut over the forehead in a

fringe, like the French. Generally they wear on these wigs a greasy

putty, made of red clay or of glossy "ukola," a red substance

extracted from sandal-wood, so that these elegant persons look as if

their heads were dressed with tiles.

It must not be supposed that this luxury of ornamentation is confined

to the hair of the natives. What are ears for if not to pass pins of

precious wood through, also copper rings, charms of plaited maize,

which draw them forward, or little gourds which do for snuff-boxes,

and to such an extent that the distended lobes of these appendages

fall sometimes to the shoulders of their owners?

After all, the African savages have no pockets, and how could they

have any? This gives rise to the necessity of placing where they can

their knives, pipes, and other customary objects. As for the neck,

arms, wrists, legs, and ankles, these various parts of the body are

undoubtedly destined to carry the copper and brass bracelets, the

horns cut off and decorated with bright buttons, the rows of red

pearls, called same-sames or "talakas," and which were very

fashionable. Besides, with these jewels, worn in profusion, the

wealthy people of the place looked like traveling shrines.

Again, if nature gave the natives teeth, was it not that they could

pull out the upper and lower incisors, file them in points, and curve

them in sharp fangs like the fangs of a rattlesnake? If she has placed

nails at the end of the fingers, is it not that they may grow so

immoderately that the use of the hand is rendered almost impossible?

If the skin, black or brown, covers the human frame, is it not so as

to zebra it by "temmbos" or tattooings representing trees, birds,

crescents, full moons, or waving lines, in which Livingstone thought

he could trace the designs of ancient Egypt? This tattooing, done by

fathers, is practised by means of a blue matter introduced into the

incisions, and is "stereotyped" point by point on the bodies of the

children, thus establishing to what tribe or to what family they

belong. The coat-of-arms must be engraved on the breast, when it

cannot be painted on the panel of a carriage.

Such are the native fashions in ornament. In regard to garments

properly so called, they are summed up very easily; for the men,

an apron of antelope leather, reaching to the knees, or perhaps a

petticoat of a straw material of brilliant colors; for the women, a

belt of pearls, supporting at the hips a green petticoat, embroidered

in silk, ornamented with glass beads or coury; sometimes they wear

garments made of "lambba," a straw material, blue, black, and yellow,

which is much prized by the natives of Zanzibar.

These, of course, are the negroes of the best families. The others,

merchants, and slaves, are seldom clothed. The women generally act as

porters, and reach the market with enormous baskets on their back,

which they hold by means of a leathern strap passed over the forehead.

Then, their places being taken, and the merchandise unpacked, they

squat in their empty baskets.

The astonishing fertility of the country causes the choice alimentary

produces to be brought to this "lakoni." There were quantities of the

rice which returns a hundred per cent., of the maize, which, in three

crops in eight months, produces two hundred per cent., the sesamum,

the pepper of Ouroua, stronger than the Cayenne, allspice, tapioca,

sorghum, nutmegs, salt, and palm-oil.

Hundreds of goats were gathered there, hogs, sheep without wool,

evidently of Tartar origin, quantities of poultry and fish. Specimens

of pottery, very gracefully turned, attracted the eyes by their

violent colors.

Various drinks, which the little natives cried about in a squeaking

voice, enticed the unwary, in the form of plantain wine, "pombe," a

liquor in great demand, "malofou," sweet beer, made from the fruit

of the banana-tree and mead, a limpid mixture of honey and water

fermented with malt.

But what made the Kazounde market still more curious was the commerce

in stuffs and ivory.

In the line of stuffs, one might count by thousands of "choukkas"

or armfuls, the "Mericani" unbleached calico, come from Salem, in

Massachusetts, the "kanaki," a blue gingham, thirty-four inches wide,

the "sohari," a stuff in blue and white squares, with a red border,

mixed with small blue stripes. It is cheaper than the "dioulis," a

silk from Surat, with a green, red or yellow ground, which is worth

from seventy to eighty dollars for a remnant of three yards when woven

with gold.

As for ivory, it was brought from all parts of Central Africa, being

destined for Khartoum, Zanzibar, or Natal. A large number of merchants

are employed solely in this branch of African commerce.

Imagine how many elephants are killed to furnish the five hundred

thousand kilograms of ivory, which are annually exported to European

markets, and principally to the English! The western coast of Africa

alone produces one hundred and forty tons of this precious substance.

The average weight is twenty-eight pounds for a pair of elephant's

tusks, which, in 1874, were valued as high as fifteen hundred francs;

but there are some that weigh one hundred and seventy-five pounds, and

at the Kazounde market, admirers would have found some admirable ones.

They were of an opaque ivory, translucid, soft under the tool, and

with a brown rind, preserving its whiteness and not growing yellow

with time like the ivories of other provinces.

And, now, how are these various business affairs regulated between

buyers and sellers? What is the current coin? As we have said, for the

African traders this money is the slave.

The native pays in glass beads of Venetian manufacture, called

"catchocolos," when they are of a lime white; "bouboulous," when

they are black; "sikounderetches," when they are red. These beads or

pearls, strung in ten rows or "khetes," going twice around the neck,

make the "foundo," which is of great value. The usual measure of the

beads is the "frasilah," which weighs seventy pounds. Livingstone,

Cameron, and Stanley were always careful to be abundantly provided

with this money.

In default of glass beads, the "pice," a Zanzibar piece, worth four

centimes, and the "vroungouas," shells peculiar to the eastern coasts,

are current in the markets of the African continent. As for the

cannibal tribes, they attach a certain value to the teeth of the human

jaw, and at the "lakoni," these chaplets were to be seen on the necks

of natives, who had no doubt eaten their producers; but these teeth

were ceasing to be used as money.

Such, then, was the appearance of the great market. Toward the middle

of the day the gaiety reached a climax; the noise became deafening.

The fury of the neglected venders, and the anger of the overcharged

customers, were beyond description. Thence frequent quarrels, and, as

we know, few guardians of the peace to quell the fray in this howling

crowd.

Toward the middle of the day, Alvez gave orders to bring the slaves,

whom he wished to sell, to the square. The crowd was thus increased by

two thousand unfortunate beings of all ages, whom the trader had kept

in pens for several months. This "stock" was not in a bad condition.

Long rest and sufficient food had improved these slaves so as to look

to advantage at the "lakoni." As for the last arrivals, they could not

stand any comparison with them, and, after a month in the pens, Alvez

could certainly have sold them with more profit. The demands, however,

from the eastern coast, were so great that he decided to expose and

sell them as they were.

This was a misfortune for Tom and his three companions. The drivers

pushed them into the crowd that invaded the "tchitoka." They were

strongly chained, and their glances told what horror, what fury and

shame overwhelmed them.

"Mr. Dick is not there," Bat said, after some time, during which he

had searched the vast plain with his eyes.

"No," replied Acteon, "they will not put him up for sale."

"He will be killed, if he is not already," added the old black. "As

for us, we have but one hope left, which is, that the same trader will

buy us all. It would be a great consolation not to be separated."

"Ah! to know that you are far away from me, working like a slave, my

poor, old father!" cried Bat, sobbing aloud.

"No," said Tom. "No; they will not separate us, and perhaps we

might----"

"If Hercules were here!" cried Austin.

But the giant had not reappeared. Since the news sent to Dick Sand,

they had heard no one mention either Hercules or Dingo. Should they

envy him his fate? Why, yes; for if Hercules were dead, he was saved

from the chains of slavery!

Meanwhile, the sale had commenced. Alvez's agents marched the various

lots of men, women and children through the crowd, without caring

if they separated mothers from their infants. May we not call these

beings "unfortunates," who were treated only as domestic animals?

Tom and his companions were thus led from buyers to buyers. An agent

walked before them naming the price adjudged to their lot. Arab or

mongrel brokers, from the central provinces, came to examine them.

They did not discover in them the traits peculiar to the African race,

these traits being modified in America after the second generation.

But these vigorous and intelligent negroes, so very different from the

blacks brought from the banks of the Zambeze or the Loualaba, were all

the more valuable. They felt them, turned them, and looked at their

teeth. Horse-dealers thus examine the animals they wish to buy. Then

they threw a stick to a distance, made them run and pick it up, and

thus observed their gait.

This was the method employed for all, and all were submitted to these

humiliating trials. Do not believe that these people are completely

indifferent to this treatment! No, excepting the children, who cannot

comprehend the state of degradation to which they are reduced, all,

men or women, were ashamed.

Besides, they were not spared injuries and blows. Coimbra, half drunk,

and Alvez's agents, treated them with extreme brutality, and from

their new masters, who had just paid for them in ivory stuffs and

beads, they would receive no better treatment. Violently separated,

a mother from her child, a husband from his wife, a brother from a

sister, they were not allowed a last caress nor a last kiss, and on

the "lakoni" they saw each other for the last time.

In fact, the demands of the trade exacted that the slaves should be

sent in different directions, according to their sex. The traders who

buy the men do not buy women. The latter, in virtue of polygamy, which

is legal among the Mussulmans, are sent to the Arabic countries, where

they are exchanged for ivory. The men, being destined to the hardest

labor, go to the factories of the two coasts, and are exported either

to the Spanish colonies or to the markets of Muscat and Madagascar.

This sorting leads to heart-breaking scenes between those whom the

agents separate, and who will die without ever seeing each other

again.

The four companions in turn submitted to the common fate. But, to tell

the truth, they did not fear this event. It was better for them to

be exported into a slave colony. There, at least, they might have a

chance to protest. On the contrary, if sent to the interior, they

might renounce all hope of ever regaining their liberty.

It happened as they wished. They even had the almost unhoped for

consolation of not being separated. They were in brisk demand, being

wanted by several traders. Alvez clapped his hands. The prices rose.

It was strange to see these slaves of unknown value in the Kazounde

market, and Alvez had taken good care to conceal where they came from.

Tom and his friends, not speaking the language of the country, could

not protest.

Their master was a rich Arab trader, who in a few days would send them

to Lake Tanganyika, the great thoroughfare for slaves; then, from that

point, toward the factories of Zanzibar.

Would they ever reach there, through the most unhealthy and the most

dangerous countries of Central Africa? Fifteen hundred miles to march

under these conditions, in the midst of frequent wars, raised and

carried on between chiefs, in a murderous climate. Was old Tom strong

enough to support such misery? Would he not fall on the road like old

Nan? But the poor men were not separated. The chain that held them all

was lighter to carry. The Arab trader would evidently take care of

merchandise which promised him a large profit in the Zanzibar market.

Tom, Bat, Acteon, and Austin then left the place. They saw and heard

nothing of the scene which was to end the great "lakoni" of Kazounde.

CHAPTER XI - THE KING OF KAZOUNDE IS OFFERED A PUNCH.

It was four o'clock in the afternoon when a loud noise of drums,

cymbals, and other instruments of African origin resounded at the

end of the principal street. In all corners of the market-place the

animation was redoubled. Half a day of cries and wrestling had neither

weakened the voices nor broken the limbs of these abominable traders.

A large number of slaves still remained to be sold. The traders

disputed over the lots with an ardor of which the London Exchange

would give but an imperfect idea, even on a day when stocks were

rising.

All business was stopped, and the criers took their breath as soon as

the discordant concert commenced.

The King of Kazounde, Moini Loungga, had come to honor the great

"lakoni" with a visit. A numerous train of women, officers, soldiers

and slaves followed him. Alvez and some other traders went to meet

him, and naturally exaggerated the attention which this crowned brute

particularly enjoyed.

Moini Loungga was carried in an old palanquin, and descended, not

without the aid of a dozen arms, in the center of the large square.

This king was fifty years old, but he looked eighty. Imagine a

frightful monkey who had reached extreme old age; on his head a sort

of crown, ornamented with leopard's claws, dyed red, and enlarged

by tufts of whitish hair; this was the crown of the sovereigns

of Kazounde. From his waist hung two petticoats made of leather,

embroidered with pearls, and harder than a blacksmith's apron. He

had on his breast a quantity of tattooing which bore witness to the

ancient nobility of the king; and, to believe him, the genealogy of

Moini Loungga was lost in the night of time. On the ankles, wrists and

arms of his majesty, bracelets of leather were rolled, and he wore a

pair of domestic shoes with yellow tops, which Alvez had presented him

with about twenty years before.

His majesty carried in his left hand a large stick with a plated knob,

and in his right a small broom to drive away flies, the handle of

which was enriched with pearls.

Over his head was carried one of those old patched umbrellas, which

seemed to have been cut out of a harlequin's dress.

On the monarch's neck and on his nose were the magnifying glass and

the spectacles which had caused Cousin Benedict so much trouble. They

had been hidden in Bat's pocket.

Such is the portrait of his negro majesty, who made the country

tremble in a circumference of a hundred miles.

Moini Loungga, from the fact of occupying a throne, pretended to be

of celestial origin, and had any of his subjects doubted the fact, he

would have sent them into another world to discover it. He said that,

being of a divine essence, he was not subject to terrestrial laws. If

he ate, it was because he wished to do so; if he drank, it was because

it gave him pleasure. It was impossible for him to drink any more. His

ministers and his officers, all incurable drunkards, would have passed

before him for sober men.

The court was alcoholized to the last chief, and incessantly imbibed

strong beer, cider, and, above all, a certain drink which Alvez

furnished in profusion.

Moini Loungga counted in his harem wives of all ages and of all kinds.

The larger part of them accompanied him in this visit to the "lakoni."

Moini, the first, according to date, was a vixen of forty years, of

royal blood, like her colleagues. She wore a bright tartan, a straw

petticoat embroidered with pearls, and necklaces wherever she could

put them. Her hair was dressed so as to make an enormous framework on

her little head. She was, in fact, a monster.

The other wives, who were either the cousins or the sisters of the

king, were less richly dressed, but much younger. They walked behind

her, ready to fulfil, at a sign from their master, their duties as

human furniture. These unfortunate beings were really nothing else. If

the king wished to sit down, two of these women bent toward the earth

and served him for a chair, while his feet rested on the bodies of

some others, as if on an ebony carpet.

In Moini Loungga's suite came his officers, his captains, and his

magicians.

A remarkable thing about these savages, who staggered like their

master, was that each lacked a part of his body--one an ear, another

an eye, this one the nose, that one the hand. Not one was whole.

That is because they apply only two kinds of punishment in

Kazounde--mutilation or death--all at the caprice of the king. For the

least fault, some amputation, and the most cruelly punished are those

whose ears are cut off, because they can no longer wear rings in their

ears.

The captains of the kilolos, governors of districts, hereditary or

named for four years, wore hats of zebra skin and red vests for their

whole uniform. Their hands brandished long palm canes, steeped at one

end with charmed drugs.

As to the soldiers, they had for offensive and defensive weapons,

bows, of which the wood, twined with the cord, was ornamented with

fringes; knives, whetted with a serpent's tongue; broad and long

lances; shields of palm wood, decorated in arabesque style. For what

there was of uniform, properly so called, it cost his majesty's

treasury absolutely nothing.

Finally, the kind's cortege comprised, in the last place, the court

magicians and the instrumentalists.

The sorcerers, the "mganngas," are the doctors of the country.

These savages attach an absolute faith to divinatory services, to

incantations, to the fetiches, clay figures stained with white and

red, representing fantastic animals or figures of men and women

cut out of whole wood. For the rest, those magicians were not less

mutilated than the other courtiers, and doubtless the monarch paid

them in this way for the cures that did not succeed.

The instrumentalists, men or women, made sharp rattles whizz, noisy

drums sound or shudder under small sticks terminated by a caoutchouc

ball, "marimehas," kinds of dulcimers formed of two rows of gourds of

various dimensions--the whole very deafening for any one who does not

possess a pair of African ears.

Above this crowd, which composed the royal cortege, waved some flags

and standards, then at the ends of spears the bleached skulls of the

rival chiefs whom Moini Loungga had vanquished.

When the king had quitted his palanquin, acclamations burst forth from

all sides. The soldiers of the caravan discharged their old guns, the

low detonations of which were but little louder than the vociferations

of the crowd. The overseers, after rubbing their black noses with

cinnabar powder, which they carried in a sack, bowed to the ground.

Then Alvez, advancing in his turn, handed the king a supply of fresh

tobacco--"soothing herb," as they call it in the country. Moini

Loungga had great need of being soothed, for he was, they did not know

why, in a very bad humor.

At the same time Alvez, Coimbra, Ibn Hamis, and the Arab traders,

or mongrels, came to pay their court to the powerful sovereign of

Kazounde. "Marhaba," said the Arabs, which is their word of welcome in

the language of Central Africa. Others clapped their hands and bowed

to the ground. Some daubed themselves with mud, and gave signs of the

greatest servility to this hideous majesty.

Moini Loungga hardly looked at all these people, and walked, keeping

his limbs apart, as if the ground were rolling and pitching. He walked

in this manner, or rather he rolled in the midst of waves of slaves,

and if the traders feared that he might take a notion to apportion

some of the prisoners to himself, the latter would no less dread

falling into the power of such a brute.

Negoro had not left Alvez for a moment, and in his company presented

his homage to the king. Both conversed in the native language, if,

however, that word "converse" can be used of a conversation in which

Moini Loungga only took part by monosyllables that hardly found a

passage through his drunken lips. And still, did he not ask his

friend, Alvez, to renew his supply of brandy just exhausted by large

libations?

"King Loungga is welcome to the market of Kazounde," said the trader.

"I am thirsty," replied the monarch.

"He will take his part in the business of the great 'lakoni,'" added

Alvez.

"Drink!" replied Moini Loungga.

"My friend Negoro is happy to see the King of Kazounde again, after

such a long absence."

"Drink!" repeated the drunkard, whose whole person gave forth a

disgusting odor of alcohol.

"Well, some 'pombe'! some mead!" exclaimed Jose-Antonio Alvez, like a

man who well knew what Moini Loungga wanted.

"No, no!" replied the king; "my friend Alvez's brandy, and for each

drop of his fire-water I shall give him----"

"A drop of blood from a white man!" exclaimed Negoro, after making a

sign to Alvez, which the latter understood and approved.

"A white man! Put a white man to death!" repeated Moini Loungga, whose

ferocious instincts were aroused by the Portuguese's proposition.

"One of Alvez's agents has been killed by this white man," returned

Negoro.

"Yes, my agent, Harris," replied the trader, "and his death must be

avenged!"

"Send that white man to King Massongo, on the Upper Zaire, among the

Assonas. They will cut him in pieces. They will eat him alive. They

have not forgotten the taste of human flesh!" exclaimed Moini Loungga.

He was, in fact, the king of a tribe of man-eaters, that Massongo.

It is only too true that in certain provinces of Central Africa

cannibalism is still openly practised. Livingstone states it in his

"Notes of Travel." On the borders of the Loualaba the Manyemas not

only eat the men killed in the wars, but they buy slaves to devour

them, saying that "human flesh is easily salted, and needs little

seasoning." Those cannibals Cameron has found again among the

Moene-Bongga, where they only feast on dead bodies after steeping them

for several days in a running stream. Stanley has also encountered

those customs of cannibalism among the inhabitants of the Oukonson.

Cannibalism is evidently well spread among the tribes of the center.

But, cruel as was the kind of death proposed by the king for Dick

Sand, it did not suit Negoro, who did not care to give up his victim.

"It was here," said he, "that the white man killed our comrade

Harris."

"It is here that he ought to die!" added Alvez.

"Where you please, Alvez," replied Moini Loungga; "but a drop of

fire-water for a drop of blood!"

"Yes," replied the trader, "fire-water, and you will see that it well

merits that name! We shall make it blaze, this water! Jose-Antonio

Alvez will offer a punch to the King Moini Loungga."

The drunkard shook his friend Alvez's hands. He could not contain his

joy. His wives, his courtiers shared his ecstasy. They had never seen

brandy blaze, and doubtless they counted on drinking it all blazing.

Then, after the thirst for alcohol, the thirst for blood, so imperious

among these savages, would be satisfied also.

Poor Dick Sand! What a horrible punishment awaited him. When we think

of the terrible or grotesque effects of intoxication in civilized

countries, we understand how far it can urge barbarous beings.

We will readily believe that the thought of torturing a white could

displease none of the natives, neither Jose-Antonio Alvez, a negro

like themselves, nor Coimbra, a mongrel of black blood, nor Negoro

either, animated with a ferocious hatred against the whites.

The evening had come, an evening without twilight, that was going to

make day change tonight almost at once, a propitious hour for the

blazing of the brandy.

It was truly a triumphant idea of Alvez's, to offer a punch to this

negro majesty, and to make him love brandy under a new form. Moini

Loungga began to find that fire-water did not sufficiently justify its

name. Perhaps, blazing and burning, it would tickle more agreeably the

blunted papillas of his tongue.

The evening's program then comprised a punch first, a punishment

afterwards.

Dick Sand, closely shut up in his dark prison, would only come out to

go to his death. The other slaves, sold or not, had been put back in

the barracks. There only remained at the "tchitoka," the traders, the

overseers and the soldiers ready to take their part of the punch, if

the king and his court allowed them.

Jose-Antonio Alvez, advised by Negoro, did the thing well. They

brought a vast copper basin, capable of containing at least two

hundred pints, which was placed in the middle of the great place.

Barrels holding alcohol of inferior quality, but well refined, were

emptied into the basin. They spared neither the cinnamon, nor the

allspice, nor any of the ingredients that might improve this punch for

savages.

All had made a circle around the king. Moini Loungga advanced

staggering to the basin. One would say that this vat of brandy

fascinated him, and that he was going to throw himself into it.

Alvez generously held him back and put a lighted match into his hand.

"Fire!" cried he with a cunning grimace of satisfaction.

"Fire!" replied Moini Loungga lashing the liquid with the end of the

match.

What a flare and what an effect, when the bluish flames played on the

surface of the basin. Alvez, doubtless to render that alcohol

still sharper, had mingled with it a few handfuls of sea salt. The

assistants' faces were then given that spectral lividness that the

imagination ascribes to phantoms.

Those negroes, drunk in advance, began to cry out, to gesticulate,

and, taking each other by the hand, formed an immense circle around

the King of Kazounde.

Alvez, furnished with an enormous metal spoon, stirred the liquid,

which threw a great white glare over those delirious monkeys.

Moini Loungga advanced. He seized the spoon from the trader's hands,

plunged it into the basin, then, drawing it out full of punch in

flames, he brought it to his lips.

What a cry the King of Kazounde then gave!

An act of spontaneous combustion had just taken place. The king had

taken fire like a petroleum bonbon. This fire developed little heat,

but it devoured none the less.

At this spectacle the natives' dance was suddenly stopped.

One of Moini Loungga's ministers threw himself on his sovereign to

extinguish him; but, not less alcoholized than his master, he took

fire in his turn.

In this way, Moini Loungga's whole court was in peril of burning up.

Alvez and Negoro did not know how to help his majesty. The women,

frightened, had taken flight. As to Coimbra, he took his departure

rapidly, well knowing his inflammable nature.

The king and the minister, who had fallen on the ground, were burning

up, a prey to frightful sufferings.

In bodies so thoroughly alcoholized, combustion only produces a light

and bluish flame, that water cannot extinguish. Even stifled outside,

it would still continue to burn inwardly. When liquor has penetrated

all the tissues, there exists no means of arresting the combustion.

A few minutes after, Moini Loungga and his minister had succumbed, but

they still burned. Soon, in the place where they had fallen, there was

nothing left but a few light coals, one or two pieces of the vertebral

column, fingers, toes, that the fire does not consume, in cases of

spontaneous combustion, but which it covers with an infectious and

penetrating soot.

It was all that was left of the King of Kazounde and of his

minister.

CHAPTER XII - A ROYAL BURIAL.

The next day, May 29th, the city of Kazounde presented a strange

aspect. The natives, terrified, kept themselves shut up in their huts.

They had never seen a king, who said he was of divine essence, nor a

simple minister, die of this horrible death. They had already burned

some of their fellow-beings, and the oldest could not forget certain

culinary preparations relating to cannibalism.

They knew then how the incineration of a human body takes place with

difficulty, and behold their king and his minister had burnt all

alone! That seemed to them, and indeed ought to seem to them,

inexplicable.

Jose-Antonio Alvez kept still in his house. He might fear that he

would be held responsible for the accident. Negoro had informed him of

what had passed, warning him to take care of himself. To charge him

with Moini Loungga's death might be a bad affair, from which he might

not be able to extricate himself without damage.

But Negoro had a good idea. By his means Alvez spread the report that

the death of Kazounde's sovereign was supernatural; that the great

Manitou only reserved it for his elect. The natives, so inclined to

superstition, accepted this lie. The fire that came out of the bodies

of the king and his minister became a sacred fire. They had nothing to

do but honor Moini Loungga by obsequies worthy of a man elevated to

the rank of the gods.

These obsequies, with all the ceremonial connected with them among the

African tribes, was an occasion offered to Negoro to make Dick Sand

play a part. What this death of Moini Loungga was going to cost in

blood, would be believed with difficulty, if the Central Africa

travelers, Lieutenant Cameron among others, had not related facts that

cannot be doubted.

The King of Kazounde's natural heir was the Queen Moini. In proceeding

without delay with the funeral ceremonies she acted with sovereign

authority, and could thus distance the competitors, among others

that King of the Oukonson, who tended to encroach upon the rights of

Kazounde's sovereigns. Besides, Moini, even by becoming queen, avoided

the cruel fate reserved for the other wives of the deceased; at the

same time she would get rid of the youngest ones, of whom she, first

in date, had necessarily to complain. This result would particularly

suit the ferocious temperament of that vixen. So she had it announced,

with deer's horns and other instruments, that the obsequies of the

defunct king would take place the next evening with all the usual

ceremony.

No protestation was made, neither at court nor from the natives. Alvez

and the other traders had nothing to fear from the accession of this

Queen Moini. With a few presents, a few flattering remarks, they would

easily subject her to their influence. Thus the royal heritage was

transmitted without difficulty. There was terror only in the harem,

and not without reason.

The preparatory labors for the funeral were commenced the same day. At

the end of the principal street of Kazounde flowed a deep and rapid

stream, an affluent of the Coango. The question was to turn this

stream aside, so as to leave its bed dry. It was in that bed that the

royal grave must be dug. After the burial the stream would be restored

to its natural channel.

The natives were busily employed in constructing a dam, that forced

the stream to make a provisional bed across the plain of Kazounde.

At the last tableau of this funeral ceremony the barricade would be

broken, and the torrent would take its old bed again.

Negoro intended Dick Sand to complete the number of victims sacrificed

on the king's tomb. He had been a witness of the young novice's

irresistible movement of anger, when Harris had acquainted him with

the death of Mrs. Weldon and little Jack.

Negoro, cowardly rascal, had not exposed himself to the same fate as

his accomplice. But now, before a prisoner firmly fastened by the feet

and hands, he supposed he had nothing to fear, and resolved to pay

him a visit. Negoro was one of those miserable wretches who are not

satisfied with torturing their victims; they must also enjoy their

sufferings.

Toward the middle of the day, then, he repaired to the barrack where

Dick Sand was guarded, in sight of an overseer. There, closely bound,

was lying the young novice, almost entirely deprived of food for

twenty-four hours, weakened by past misery, tortured by those bands

that entered into his flesh; hardly able to turn himself, he was

waiting for death, no matter how cruel it might be, as a limit to so

many evils.

However, at the sight of Negoro he shuddered from head to foot. He

made an instinctive effort to break the bands that prevented him from

throwing himself on that miserable man and having revenge.

But Hercules himself would not succeed in breaking them. He understood

that it was another kind of contest that was going to take place

between the two, and arming himself with calmness, Dick Sand compelled

himself to look Negoro right in the face, and decided not to honor him

with a reply, no matter what he might say.

"I believed it to be my duty," Negoro said to him it first, "to come

to salute my young captain for the last time, and to let him know how

I regret, for his sake, that he does not command here any longer, as

he commanded on board the 'Pilgrim.'"

And, seeing that Dick Sand did not reply:

"What, captain, do you no longer recognize your old cook? He comes,

however, to take your orders, and to ask you what he ought to serve

for your breakfast."

At the same time Negoro brutally kicked the young novice, who was

lying on the ground.

"Besides," added he, "I should have another question to address to

you, my young captain. Could you yet explain to me, how, wishing to

land on the American coast, you have ended by arriving in Angola,

where you are?"

Certainly, Dick Sand had no more need of the Portuguese's words to

understand what he had truly divined, when he knew at last that the

"Pilgrim's" compass must have been made false by this traitor.

But Negoro's question was an avowal. Still he only replied by a

contemptuous silence.

"You will acknowledge, captain," continued Kegoro, "that it was

fortunate for you that there was a seaman on board--a real one, at

that. Great God, where would we be without him? Instead of perishing

on some breaker, where the tempest would have thrown you, you have

arrived, thanks to him, in a friendly port, and if it is to any one

that you owe being at last in a safe place, it is to that seaman whom

you have wronged in despising, my young master!"

Speaking thus, Negoro, whose apparent calmness was only the result

of an immense effort, had brought his form near Dick Sand. His face,

suddenly become ferocious, touched him so closely that one would

believe that he was going to devour him. This rascal could no longer

contain his fury.

"Every dog has his day!" he exclaimed, in the paroxysm of fury excited

in him by his victim's calmness. "To-day I am captain, I am master!

Your life is in my hands!"

"Take it," Sand replied, without emotion. "But, know there is in

heaven a God, avenger of all crimes, and your punishment is not

distant!"

"If God occupies himself with human beings, there is only time for Him

to take care of you!"

"I am ready to appear before the Supreme Judge," replied Dick Sand,

coldly, "and death will not make me afraid."

"We shall see about that!" howled Negoro. "You count on help of some

kind, perhaps--help at Kazounde, where Alvez and I are all-powerful!

You are a fool! You say to yourself, perhaps, that your companions are

still there, that old Tom and the others. Undeceive yourself. It is a

long time since they were sold and sent to Zanzibar--too fortunate if

they do not die of fatigue on the way!"

"God has a thousand ways of doing justice," replied Dick Sand. "The

smallest instrument is sufficient for him. Hercules is free."

"Hercules!" exclaimed Negoro, striking the ground with his foot; "he

perished long ago under the lions' and panthers' teeth. I regret

only one thing, that is, that those ferocious beasts should have

forestalled my vengeance!"

"If Hercules is dead," replied Dick Sand, "Dingo is alive. A dog like

that, Negoro, is more than enough to take revenge on a man of your

kind. I know you well, Negoro; you are not brave. Dingo will seek for

you; it will know how to find you again. Some day you will die under

his teeth!"

"Miserable boy!" exclaimed the Portuguese, exasperated. "Miserable

boy! Dingo died from a ball that I fired at it. It is dead, like Mrs.

Weldon and her son; dead, as all the survivors of the 'Pilgrim' shall

die!"

"And as you yourself shall die before long," replied Dick Sand, whose

tranquil look made the Portuguese grow pale.

Negoro, beside himself, was on the point of passing from words to

deeds, and strangling his unarmed prisoner with his hands. Already

he had sprung upon him, and was shaking him with fury, when a sudden

reflection stopped him. He remembered that he was going to kill his

victim, that all would be over, and that this would spare him the

twenty-four hours of torture he intended for him. He then stood up,

said a few words to the overseer, standing impassive, commanded him to

watch closely over the prisoner, and went out of the barrack.

Instead of casting him down, this scene had restored all Dick Sand's

moral force. His physical energy underwent a happy reaction, and at

the same time regained the mastery. In bending over him in his rage,

had Negoro slightly loosened the bands that till then had rendered all

movement impossible? It was probable, for Dick Sand thought that his

members had more play than before the arrival of his executioner. The

young novice, feeling solaced, said to himself that perhaps it would

be possible to get his arms free without too much effort. Guarded

as he was, in a prison firmly shut, that would doubtless be only a

torture--only a suffering less; but it was such a moment in life when

the smallest good is invaluable.

Certainly, Dick Sand hoped for nothing. No human succor could come to

him except from outside, and whence could it come to him? He was then

resigned. To tell the truth, he no longer cared to live. He thought of

all those who had met death before him, and he only aspired to join

them. Negoro had just repeated what Harris had told him: "Mrs. Weldon

and little Jack had succumbed." It was, indeed, only too probable that

Hercules, exposed to so many dangers, must have perished also, and

from a cruel death. Tom and his companions were at a distance, forever

lost to him--Dick Sand ought to believe it. To hope for anything but

the end of his troubles, by a death that could not be more terrible

than his life, would be signal folly. He then prepared to die, above

all throwing himself upon God, and asking courage from Him to go on

to the end without giving way. But thoughts of God are good and noble

thoughts! It is not in vain that one lifts his soul to Him who can do

all, and, when Dick Sand had offered his whole sacrifice, he found

that, if one could penetrate to the bottom of his heart, he might

perhaps discover there a last ray of hope--that glimmer which a breath

from on high can change, in spite of all probabilities, into dazzling

light.

The hours passed away. Night came. The rays of light, that penetrated

through the thatch of the barrack, gradually disappeared. The last

noises of the "tchitoka," which, during that day had been very silent,

after the frightful uproar of the night before--those last noises

died out. Darkness became very profound in the interior of the narrow

prison. Soon all reposed in the city of Kazounde.

Dick Sand fell into a restoring sleep, that lasted two hours. After

that he awoke, still stronger. He succeeded in freeing one of his

arms from their bands--it was already a little reduced--and it was a

delight for him to be able to extend it and draw it back at will.

The night must be half over. The overseer slept with heavy sleep, due

to a bottle of brandy, the neck of which was still held in his shut

hand. The savage had emptied it to the last drop. Dick Sand's first

idea was to take possession of his jailer's weapons, which might be of

great use to him in case of escape; but at that moment he thought

he heard a slight scratching at the lower part of the door of the

barrack. Helping himself with his arms, he succeeded in crawling as

far as the door-sill without wakening the overseer.

Dick Sand was not mistaken. The scratching continued, and in a more

distinct manner. It seemed that from the outside some one was digging

the earth under the door. Was it an animal? Was it a man?

"Hercules! If it were Hercules!" the young novice said to himself.

His eyes were fixed on his guard; he was motionless, and under the

influence of a leaden sleep. Dick Sand, bringing his lips to the

door-sill, thought he might risk murmuring Hercules's name. A moan,

like a low and plaintive bark, replied to him.

"It is not Hercules," said Dick to himself, "but it is Dingo. He has

scented me as far as this barrack. Should he bring me another word

from Hercules? But if Dingo is not dead, Negoro has lied, and

perhaps--"

At that moment a paw passed under the door. Dick Sand seized it, and

recognized Dingo's paw. But, if it had a letter, that letter could

only be attached to its neck. What to do? Was it possible to make that

hole large enough for Dingo to put in its head? At all events, he must

try it.

But hardly had Dick Sand begun to dig the soil with his nails, than

barks that were not Dingo's sounded over the place. The faithful

animal had just been scented by the native dogs, and doubtless could

do nothing more than take to flight. Some detonations burst forth. The

overseer half awoke. Dick Sand, no longer able to think of escaping,

because the alarm was given, must then roll himself up again in his

corner, and, after a lovely hope, he saw appear that day which would

be without a to-morrow for him.

During all that day the grave-diggers' labors were pushed on with

briskness. A large number of natives took part, under the direction

of Queen Moini's first minister. All must be ready at the hour named,

under penalty of mutilation, for the new sovereign promised to follow

the defunct king's ways, point by point.

The waters of the brook having been turned aside, it was in the dry

bed that the vast ditch was dug, to a depth of ten feet, over an

extent of fifty feet long by ten wide.

Toward the end of the day they began to carpet it, at the bottom and

along the walls, with living women, chosen among Moini Loungga's

slaves. Generally those unfortunates are buried alive. But, on account

of this strange and perhaps miraculous death of Moini Loungga, it

had been decided that they should be drowned near the body of their

master.

One cannot imagine what those horrible hecatombs are, when a powerful

chief's memory must be fitly honored among these tribes of Central

Africa. Cameron says that more than a hundred victims were thus

sacrificed at the funeral ceremonies of the King of Kassongo's father.

It is also the custom for the defunct king to be dressed in his most

costly clothes before being laid in his tomb. But this time, as there

was nothing left of the royal person except a few burnt bones, it was

necessary to proceed in another manner. A willow manikin was made,

representing Moini Loungga sufficiently well, perhaps advantageously,

and in it they shut up the remains the combustion had spared. The

manikin was then clothed with the royal vestments--we know that those

clothes are not worth much--and they did not forget to ornament it

with Cousin Benedict's famous spectacles. There was something terribly

comic in this masquerade.

The ceremony would take place with torches and with great pomp. The

whole population of Kazounde, native or not, must assist at it.

When the evening had come, a long cortège descended the principal

street, from the tchitoka as far as the burial place. Cries,

funeral dances, magicians' incantations, noises from instruments and

detonations from old muskets from the arsenals--nothing was lacking in

it.

Jose-Antonio Alvez, Coimbra, Negoro, the Arab traders and their

overseers had increased the ranks of Kazounde's people. No one had yet

left the great lakoni. Queen Moini would not permit it, and it would

not be prudent to disobey the orders of one who was trying the trade

of sovereign.

The body of the king, laid in a palanquin, was carried in the last

ranks of the cortège. It was surrounded by his wives of the second

order, some of whom were going to accompany him beyond this life.

Queen Moini, in great state, marched behind what might be called the

catafalque. It was positively night when all the people arrived on

the banks of the brook; but the resin torches, shaken by the porters,

threw great bursts of light over the crowd.

The ditch was seen distinctly. It was carpeted with black, living

bodies, for they moved under the chains that bound them to the ground.

Fifty slaves were waiting there till the torrent should close over

them. The majority were young natives, some resigned and mute, others

giving a few groans. The wives all dressed as for a fête, and who

must perish, had been chosen by the queen.

One of these victims, she who bore the title of second wife, was bent

on her hands and knees, to serve as a royal footstool, as she had done

in the king's lifetime. The third wife came to hold up the manikin,

while the fourth lay at its feet, in the guise of a cushion.

Before the manikin, at the end of the ditch, a post, painted red, rose

from the earth. To this post was fastened a white man, who was going

to be counted also among the victims of these bloody obsequies.

That white man was Dick Sand. His body, half naked, bore the marks of

the tortures he had already suffered by Negoro's orders. Tied to this

post, he waited for death like a man who has no hope except in another

life.

However, the moment had not yet arrived when the barricade would be

broken.

On a signal from the queen, the fourth wife, she who was placed at the

king's feet, was beheaded by Kazounde's executioner, and her blood

flowed into the ditch. It was the beginning of a frightful scene of

butchery. Fifty slaves fell under the executioner's knife. The bed of

the river ran waves of blood.

During half an hour the victims' cries mingled with the assistants'

vociferations, and one would seek in vain in that crowd for a

sentiment of repugnance or of pity.

At last Queen Moini made a gesture, and the barricade that held back

the upper waters gradually opened. By a refinement of cruelty, the

current was allowed to filter down the river, instead of being

precipitated by an instantaneous bursting open of the dam. Slow death

instead of quick death!

The water first drowned the carpet of slaves which covered the bottom

of the ditch. Horrible leaps were made by those living creatures,

who struggled against asphyxia. They saw Dick Sand, submerged to the

knees, make a last effort to break his bonds. But the water mounted.

The last heads disappeared under the torrent, that took its course

again, and nothing indicated that at the bottom of this river was

dug a tomb, where one hundred victims had just perished in honor of

Kazounde's king.

The pen would refuse to paint such pictures, if regard for the truth

did not impose the duty of describing them in their abominable

reality. Man is still there, in those sad countries. To be ignorant of

it is not allowable.

*       *       *       *       *

CHAPTER XIII - THE INTERIOR OF A FACTORY.

Harris and Negoro had told a lie in saying that Mrs. Weldon and

little Jack were dead. She, her son, and Cousin Benedict were then in

Kazounde.

After the assault on the ant-hill, they had been taken away beyond the

camp on the Coanza by Harris and Negoro, accompanied by a dozen native

soldiers.

A palanquin, the "kitanda" of the country, received Mrs. Weldon and

little Jack. Why such care on the part of such a man as Negoro? Mrs.

Weldon was afraid to explain it to herself.

The journey from the Counza to Kazounde was made rapidly and without

fatigue. Cousin Benedict, on whom trouble seemed to have no effect,

walked with a firm step. As he was allowed to search to the right and

to the left, he did not think of complaining. The little troop, then,

arrived at Kazounde eight days before Ibn Hamis's caravan. Mrs.

Weldon was shut up, with her child and Cousin Benedict, in Alvez's

establishment.

Little Jack was much better. On leaving the marshy country, where he

had taken the fever, he gradually became better, and now he was

doing well. No doubt neither he nor his mother could have borne the

hardships of the caravan; but owing to the manner in which they had

made this journey, during which they had been given a certain amount

of care, they were in a satisfactory condition, physically at least.

As to her companions, Mrs. Weldon had heard nothing of them. After

having seen Hercules flee into the forest, she did not know what had

become of him. As to Dick Sand, as Harris and Negoro were no longer

there to torture him, she hoped that his being a white man would

perhaps spare him some bad treatment. As to Nan, Tom, Bat, Austin, and

Acteon, they were blacks, and it was too certain that they would be

treated as such. Poor people! who should never have trodden that land

of Africa, and whom treachery had just cast there.

When Ibn Hamis's caravan had arrived at Kazounde, Mrs. Weldon, having

no communication with the outer world, could not know of the fact:

neither did the noises from the lakoni tell her anything. She did

not know that Tom and his friends had been sold to a trader from

Oujiji, and that they would soon set out. She neither knew of Harris's

punishment, nor of King Moini Loungga's death, nor of the royal

funeral ceremonies, that had added Dick Sand to so many other victims.

So the unfortunate woman found herself alone at Kazounde, at the

trader's mercy, in Negoro's power, and she could not even think of

dying in order to escape him, because her child was with her.

Mrs. Weldon was absolutely ignorant of the fate that awaited her.

Harris and Negoro had not addressed a word to her during the whole

journey from the Coanza to Kazounde. Since her arrival, she had not

seen either of them again, and she could not leave the enclosure

around the rich trader's private establishment. Is it necessary to

say now that Mrs. Weldon had found no help in her large child, Cousin

Benedict? That is understood.

When the worthy savant learned that he was not on the American

continent, as he believed, he was not at all anxious to know how that

could have happened. No! His first movement was a gesture of anger.

The insects that he imagined he had been the first to discover in

America, those tsetses and others, were only mere African hexapodes,

found by many naturalists before him, in their native places.

Farewell, then, to the glory of attaching his name to those

discoveries! In fact, as he was in Africa, what could there be

astonishing in the circumstance that Cousin Benedict had collected

African insects.

But the first anger over, Cousin Benedict said to himself that the

"Land of the Pharaohs"--so he still called it--possessed incomparable

entomological riches, and that so far as not being in the "Land of the

Incas" was concerned, he would not lose by the change.

"Ah!" he repeated, to himself, and even repeated to Mrs. Weldon, who

hardly listened to him, "this is the country of the manticores,

those coleopteres with long hairy feet, with welded and sharp

wing-shells, with enormous mandibles, of which the most remarkable is

the tuberculous manticore. It is the country of the calosomes with

golden ends; of the Goliaths of Guinea and of the Gabon, whose feet

are furnished with thorns; of the sacred Egyptian ateuchus, that

the Egyptians of Upper Egypt venerated as gods. It is here that those

sphinxes with heads of death, now spread over all Europe, belong, and

also those 'Idias Bigote,' whose sting is particularly dreaded by the

Senegalians of the coast. Yes; there are superb things to be found

here, and I shall find them, if these honest people will only let me."

We know who those "honest people" were, of whom Cousin Benedict

did not dream of complaining. Besides, it has been stated, the

entomologist had enjoyed a half liberty in Negoro's and Harris's

company, a liberty of which Dick Sand had absolutely deprived him

during the voyage from the coast to the Coanza. The simple-hearted

savant had been very much touched by that condescension.

Finally, Cousin Benedict would be the happiest of entomologists if he

had not suffered a loss to which he was extremely sensitive. He still

possessed his tin box, but his glasses no longer rested on his nose,

his magnifying glass no longer hung from his neck! Now, a naturalist

without his magnifying glass and his spectacles, no longer exists.

Cousin Benedict, however, was destined never to see those two optical

attendants again, because they had been buried with the royal manikin.

So, when he found some insect, he was reduced to thrusting it into his

eyes to distinguish its most prominent peculiarities. Ah! it was a

great loss to Cousin Benedict, and he would have paid a high price

for a pair of spectacles, but that article was not current on the

lakonis of Kazounde. At all events, Cousin Benedict could go and

come in Jose-Antonio Alvez's establishment. They knew he was incapable

of seeking to flee. Besides, a high palisade separated the factory

from the other quarters of the city, and it would not be easy to get

over it.

But, if it was well enclosed, this enclosure did not measure less than

a mile in circumference. Trees, bushes of a kind peculiar to Africa,

great herbs, a few rivulets, the thatch of the barracks and the huts,

were more than necessary to conceal the continent's rarest insects,

and to make Cousin Benedict's happiness, at least, if not his fortune.

In fact, he discovered some hexapodes, and nearly lost his eyesight in

trying to study them without spectacles. But, at least, he added to

his precious collection, and laid the foundation of a great work on

African entomology. If his lucky star would let him discover a new

insect, to which he would attach his name, he would have nothing more

to desire in this world!

If Alvez's establishment was sufficiently large for Cousin Benedict's

scientific promenades, it seemed immense to little Jack, who could

walk about there without restraint. But the child took little interest

in the pleasures so natural to his age. He rarely quitted his

mother, who did not like to leave him alone, and always dreaded some

misfortune.

Little Jack often spoke of his father, whom he had not seen for so

long. He asked to be taken back to him. He inquired after all, for old

Nan, for his friend Hercules, for Bat, for Austin, for Acteon, and for

Dingo, that appeared, indeed, to have deserted him. He wished to see

his comrade, Dick Sand, again. His young imagination was very much

affected, and only lived in those remembrances. To his questions Mrs.

Weldon could only reply by pressing him to her heart, while covering

him with kisses. All that she could do was not to cry before him.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Weldon had not failed to observe that, if bad

treatment had been spared her during the journey from the Coanza,

nothing in Alvez's establishment indicated that there would be any

change of conduct in regard to her. There were in the factory only

the slaves in the trader's service. All the others, which formed

the object of his trade, had been penned up in the barracks of the

tchitoka, then sold to the brokers from the interior.

Now, the storehouses of the establishment were overflowing with stuffs

and ivory. The stuffs were intended to be exchanged in the provinces

of the center, the ivory to be exported from the principal markets of

the continent.

In fact, then, there were few people in the factory. Mrs. Weldon and

Jack occupied a hut apart; Cousin Benedict another. They did not

communicate with the trader's servants. They ate together. The food,

consisting of goat's flesh or mutton, vegetables, tapioca, sorgho,

and the fruits of the country, was sufficient.

Halima, a young slave, was especially devoted to Mrs. Weldon's

service. In her way, and as she could, she even evinced for her a kind

of savage, but certainty sincere, affection.

Mrs. Weldon hardly saw Jose-Antonio Alvez, who occupied the principal

house of the factory. She did not see Negoro at all, as he lodged

outside; but his absence was quite inexplicable. This absence

continued to astonish her, and make her feel anxious at the same time.

"What does he want? What is he waiting for?" she asked herself. "Why

has he brought us to Kazounde?"

So had passed the eight days that preceded and followed the arrival

of Ibn Hamis's caravan--that is, the two days before the funeral

ceremonies, and the six days that followed.

In the midst of so many anxieties, Mrs. Weldon could not forget that

her husband must be a prey to the most frightful despair, on not

seeing either his wife or his son return to San Francisco. Mr. Weldon

could not know that his wife had adopted that fatal idea of taking

passage on board the "Pilgrim," and he would believe that she had

embarked on one of the steamers of the Trans-Pacific Company. Now,

these steamers arrived regularly, and neither Mrs. Weldon, nor Jack,

nor Cousin Benedict were on them. Besides, the "Pilgrim" itself was

already overdue at Sun Francisco. As she did not reappear, James W.

Weldon must now rank her in the category of ships supposed to be lost,

because not heard of.

What a terrible blow for him, when news of the departure of the

"Pilgrim" and the embarkation of Mrs. Weldon should reach him from

his correspondents in Auckland! What had he done? Had he refused to

believe that his son and she had perished at sea? But then, where

would he search? Evidently on the isles of the Pacific, perhaps on the

American coast. But never, no never, would the thought occur to him

that she had been thrown on the coast of this fatal Africa!

So thought Mrs. Weldon. But what could she attempt? Flee! How? She

was closely watched. And then to flee was to venture into those thick

forests, in the midst of a thousand dangers, to attempt a journey of

more than two hundred miles to reach the coast. And meanwhile Mrs.

Weldon was decided to do it, if no other means offered themselves for

her to recover her liberty. But, first, she wished to know exactly

what Negoro's designs were.

At last she knew them.

On the 6th of June, three days after the burial of Kazounde's king,

Negoro entered the factory, where he had not yet set foot since his

return. He went right to the hut occupied by his prisoner.

Mrs. Weldon was alone. Cousin Benedict was taking one of his

scientific walks. Little Jack, watched by the slave Halima, was

walking in the enclosure of the establishment.

Negoro pushed open the door of the hut without knocking.

"Mrs. Weldon," said he, "Tom and his companions have been sold for the

markets of Oujiji!"

"May God protect them!" said Mrs. "Weldon, shedding tears.

"Nan died on the way, Dick Sand has perished----"

"Nan dead! and Dick!" cried Mrs. Weldon.

"Yes, it is just for your captain of fifteen to pay for Harris's

murder with his life," continued Negoro. "You are alone in Kazounde,

mistress; alone, in the power of the 'Pilgrim's' old cook--absolutely

alone, do you understand?"

What Negoro said was only too true, even concerning Tom and his

friends. The old black man, his son Bat, Acteon and Austin had

departed the day before with the trader of Oujiji's caravan, without

the consolation of seeing Mrs. Weldon again, without even knowing that

their companion in misery was in Kazounde, in Alvez's establishment.

They had departed for the lake country, a journey figured by hundreds

of miles, that very few accomplish, and from which very few return.

"Well?" murmured Mrs. Weldon, looking at Negoro without answering.

"Mrs. Weldon," returned the Portuguese, in an abrupt voice, "I could

revenge myself on you for the bad treatment I suffered on board the

'Pilgrim.' But Dick Sand's death will satisfy my vengeance. Now,

mistress, I become the merchant again, and behold my projects with

regard to you."

Mrs. Weldon looked at him without saying a word.

"You," continued the Portuguese, "your child, and that imbecile who

runs after the flies, you have a commercial value which I intend to

utilize. So I am going to sell you."

"I am of a free race," replied Mrs. Weldon, in a firm tone.

"You are a slave, if I wish it."

"And who would buy a white woman?"

"A man who will pay for her whatever I shall ask him."

Mrs. Weldon bent her head for a moment, for she knew that anything was

possible in that frightful country.

"You have heard?" continued Negoro.

"Who is this man to whom you will pretend to sell me?" replied Mrs.

Weldon.

"To sell you or to re-sell you. At least, I suppose so!" added the

Portuguese, sneering.

"The name of this man?" asked Mrs. Weldon.

"This man--he is James W. Weldon, your husband."

"My husband!" exclaimed Mrs. Weldon, who could not believe what she

had just heard.

"Himself, Mrs. Weldon--your husband, to whom I do not wish simply to

restore his wife, his child, and his cousin, but to sell them, and, at

a high price."

Mrs. Weldon asked herself if Negoro was not setting a trap for her.

However, she believed he was speaking seriously. To a wretch to whom

money is everything, it seems that we can trust, when business is in

question. Now, this was business.

"And when do you propose to make this business operation?" returned

Mrs. Weldon.

"As soon as possible."

"Where?"

"Just here. Certainly James Weldon will not hesitate to come as far as

Kazounde for his wife and son."

"No, he will not hesitate. But who will tell him?"

"I! I shall go to San Francisco to find James Weldon. I have money

enough for this voyage."

"The money stolen from on board the 'Pilgrim?'"

"Yes, that, and more besides," replied Negoro, insolently. "But, if

I wish to sell you soon, I also wish to sell you at a high price.

I think that James Weldon will not regard a hundred thousand

dollars----"

"He will not regard them, if he can give them," replied Mrs. Weldon,

coldly. "Only my husband, to whom you will say, doubtless, that I am

held a prisoner at Kazounde, in Central Africa----"

"Precisely!"

"My husband will not believe you without proofs, and he will not be so

imprudent as to come to Kazounde on your word alone."

"He will come here," returned Negoro, "if I bring him a letter written

by you, which will tell him your situation, which will describe me as

a faithful servant, escaped from the hands of these savages."

"My hand shall never write that letter!" Mrs. Weldon replied, in a

still colder manner.

"You refuse?" exclaimed Negoro.

"I refuse!"

The thought of the dangers her husband would pass through in coming

as far as Kazounde, the little dependence that could be placed on the

Portuguese's promises, the facility with which the latter could retain

James Weldon, after taking the ransom agreed upon, all these reasons

taken together made Mrs. Weldon refuse Negoro's proposition flatly and

at once. Mrs. Weldon spoke, thinking only of herself, forgetting her

child for the moment.

"You shall write that letter!" continued the Portuguese.

"No!" replied Mrs. Weldon again.

"Ah, take care!" exclaimed Negoro. "You are not alone here! Your child

is, like you, in my power, and I well know how----"

Mrs. Weldon wished to reply that that would be impossible. Her heart

was beating as if it would break; she was voiceless.

"Mrs. Weldon," said Negoro, "you will reflect on the offer I have made

you. In eight days you will have handed me a letter to James Weldon's

address, or you will repent of it."

That said, the Portuguese retired, without giving vent to his anger;

but it was easy to see that nothing would stop him from constraining

Mrs. Weldon to obey him.

CHAPTER XIV - SOME NEWS OF DR. LIVINGSTONE.

Left alone, Mrs. Weldon at first only fixed her mind on this thought,

that eight days would pass before Negoro would return for a definite

answer. There was time to reflect and decide on a course of action.

There could be no question of the Portuguese's probity except in his

own interest. The "market value" that he attributed to his prisoner

would evidently be a safeguard for her, and protect her for the time,

at least, against any temptation that might put her in danger. Perhaps

she would think of a compromise that would restore her to her husband

without obliging Mr. Weldon to come to Kazounde. On receipt of a

letter from his wife, she well knew that James Weldon would set out.

He would brave the perils of this journey into the most dangerous

countries of Africa. But, once at Kazounde, when Negoro should have

that fortune of a hundred thousand dollars in his hands, what guaranty

would James W. Weldon, his wife, his son and Cousin Benedict have,

that they would be allowed to depart? Could not Queen Moini's caprice

prevent them? Would not this "sale" of Mrs. Weldon and hers be better

accomplished if it took place at the coast, at some point agreed upon,

which would spare Mr. Weldon both the dangers of the journey to the

interior, and the difficulties, not to say the impossibilities, of a

return?

So reflected Mrs. Weldon. That was why she had refused at once to

accede to Negoro's proposition and give him a letter for her husband.

She also thought that, if Negoro had put off his second visit for

eight days, it was because he needed that time to prepare for his

journey. If not, he would return sooner to force her consent.

"Would he really separate me from my child?" murmured she.

At that moment Jack entered the hut, and, by an instinctive movement,

his mother seized him, as if Negoro were there, ready to snatch him

from her.

"You are in great grief, mother?" asked the little boy.

"No, dear Jack," replied Mrs. Weldon; "I was thinking of your papa!

You would be very glad to see him again?"

"Oh! yes, mother! Is he going to come?"

"No! no! He must not come!"

"Then we will go to see him again?"

"Yes, darling Jack!"

"With my friend Dick--and Hercules--and old Tom?"

"Yes! yes!" replied Mrs. Weldon, putting her head down to hide her

tears.

"Has papa written to you?" asked little Jack.

"No, my love."

"Then you are going to write to him, mother?"

"Yes--yes--perhaps!" replied Mrs. Weldon.

And without knowing it, little Jack entered directly into his mother's

thoughts. To avoid answering him further, she covered him with kisses.

It must be stated that another motive of some value was joined to

the different reasons that had urged Mrs. Weldon to resist Negoro's

injunctions. Perhaps Mrs. Weldon had a very unexpected chance of being

restored to liberty without her husband's intervention, and even

against Negoro's will. It was only a faint ray of hope, very vague as

yet, but it was one.

In fact, a few words of conversation, overheard by her several days

before, made her foresee a possible succor near at hand--one might say

a providential succor.

Alvez and a mongrel from Oujiji were talking a few steps from the hut

occupied by Mrs. Weldon. It is not astonishing that the slave-trade

was the subject of conversation between those worthy merchants.

The two brokers in human flesh were talking business. They were

discussing the future of their commerce, and were worried about

the efforts the English were making to destroy it--not only on the

exterior, by cruisers, but in the interior, by their missionaries and

their travelers.

Jose-Antonio Alvez found that the explorations of these hardy pioneers

could only injure commercial operations. His interlocutor shared his

views, and thought that all these visitors, civil or religious, should

be received with gun-shots.

This had been done to some extent. But, to the great displeasure of

the traders, if they killed some of these curious ones, others escaped

them. Now, these latter, on returning to their country, recounted

"with exaggerations," Alvez said, the horrors of the slave-trade, and

that injured this commerce immensely--it being too much diminished

already.

The mongrel agreed to that, and deplored it; above all, concerning the

markets of N'yangwe, of Oujiji, of Zanzibar, and of all the great

lake regions. There had come successively Speke, Grant, Livingstone,

Stanley, and others. It was an invasion! Soon all England and all

America would occupy the country!

Alvez sincerely pitied his comrade, and he declared that the provinces

of Western Africa had been, till that time, less badly treated--that

is to say, less visited; but the epidemic of travelers was beginning

to spread. If Kazounde had been spared, it was not so with Cassange,

and with Bihe, where Alvez owned factories. It may be remembered,

also, that Harris had spoken to Negoro of a certain Lieutenant

Cameron, who might, indeed, have the presumption to cross Africa from

one side to the other, and after entering it by Zanzibar, leave it by

Angola.

In fact, the trader had reason to fear, and we know that, some years

after, Cameron to the south and Stanley to the north, were going

to explore these little-known provinces of the west, describe the

permanent monstrosities of the trade, unveil the guilty complicities

of foreign agents, and make the responsibility fall on the right

parties.

Neither Alvez nor the mongrel could know anything yet of this

exploration of Cameron's and of Stanley's; but what they did know,

what they said, what Mrs. Weldon heard, and what was of such great

interest to her--in a word, what had sustained her in her refusal to

subscribe at once to Negoro's demands, was this:

Before long, very probably, Dr. David Livingstone would arrive at

Kazounde.

Now, the arrival of Livingstone with his escort, the influence which

the great traveler enjoyed in Africa, the concourse of Portuguese

authorities from Angola that could not fail to meet him, all that

might bring about the deliverance of Mrs. Weldon and hers, in spite of

Negoro, in spite of Alvez. It was perhaps their restoration to their

country within a short time, and without James W. Weldon risking his

life in a journey, the result of which could only be deplorable.

But was there any probability that Dr. Livingstone would soon visit

that part of the continent? Yes, for in following that missionary

tour, he was going to complete the exploration of Central Africa.

We know the heroic life of this son of the tea merchant, who lived

in Blantyre, a village in the county of Lanark. Born on the 13th of

March, 1813, David Livingstone, the second of six children, became,

by force of study, both a theologian and doctor. After making his

novitiate in the "London Missionary Society," he embarked for the

Cape in 1840, with the intention of joining the missionary Moffat in

Southern Africa.

From the Cape, the future traveler repaired to the country of the

Bechnanas, which he explored for the first time, returned to Kuruman

and married Moffat's daughter, that brave companion who would be

worthy of him. In 1843 he founded a mission in the valley of the

Mabotsa.

Four years later, we find him established at Kolobeng, two hundred

and twenty-five miles to the north of Kuruman, in the country of the

Bechnanas.

Two years after, in 1849, Livingstone left Kolobeng with his wife, his

three children and two friends, Messrs. Oswell and Murray. August 1st,

of the same year, he discovered Lake N'gami, and returned to Kolobeng,

by descending the Zouga.

In this journey Livingstone, stopped by the bad will of the natives,

had not passed beyond the N'gami. A second attempt was not more

fortunate. A third must succeed. Then, taking a northern route, again

with his family and Mr. Oswell, after frightful sufferings (for lack

of food, for lack of water) that almost cost him the lives of his

children, he reached the country of the Makalolos beside the Chobe, a

branch of the Zambezi. The chief, Sebituane, joined him at Linyanti.

At the end of June, 1851, the Zambezi was discovered, and the doctor

returned to the Cape to bring his family to England.

In fact, the intrepid Livingstone wished to be alone while risking his

life in the daring journey he was going to undertake.

On leaving the Cape this time, the question was to cross Africa

obliquely from the south to the west, so as to reach Saint Paul de

Loanda.

On the third of June, 1852, the doctor set out with a few natives.

He arrived at Kuruman and skirted the Desert of Kalahari. The 31st

December he entered Litoubarouba and found the country of the

Bechnanas ravaged by the Boers, old Dutch colonists, who were masters

of the Cape before the English took possession of it.

Livingstone left Litoubarouba on the 15th of January, 1853, penetrated

to the center of the country of the Bamangouatos, and, on May 23d,

he arrived at Linyanti, where the young sovereign of the Makalolos,

Sckeletou, received him with great honor.

There, the doctor held back by the intense fevers, devoted himself to

studying the manners of the country, and, for the first time, he could

ascertain the ravages made by the slave-trade in Africa.

One month after he descended the Chobe, reached the Zambezi, entered

Naniele, visited Katonga and Libonta, arrived at the confluence of

the Zambezi and the Leeba, formed the project of ascending by that

watercourse as far as the Portuguese possessions of the west, and,

after nine weeks' absence, returned to Linyanti to make preparations.

On the 11th of November, 1853, the doctor, accompanied by twenty-seven

Makalolos, left Linyanti, and on the 27th of December he reached

the mouth of the Leeba. This watercourse was ascended as far as the

territory of the Balondas, there where it receives the Makonda, which

comes from the east. It was the first time that a white man penetrated

into this region.

January 14th, Livingstone entered Shinte's residence. He was the

most powerful sovereign of the Balondas. He gave Livingstone a good

reception, and, the 26th of the same month, after crossing the Leeba,

he arrived at King Katema's. There, again, a good reception, and

thence the departure of the little troop that on the 20th of February

encamped on the borders of Lake Dilolo.

On setting out from this point, a difficult country, exigencies of the

natives, attacks from the tribes, revolt of his companions, threats of

death, everything conspired against Livingstone, and a less energetic

man would have abandoned the party. The doctor persevered, and on the

4th of April, he reached the banks of the Coango, a large watercourse

which forms the eastern boundary of the Portuguese possessions, and

flows northward into the Zaire.

Six days after, Livingstone entered Cassange, where the trader Alvez

had seen him passing through, and on the 31st of May he arrived at

Saint Paul de Loanda. For the first time, and after a journey of two

years, Africa had just been crossed obliquely from the south to the

west.

David Livingstone left Loanda, September 24th of the same year. He

skirted the right bank of that Coanza that had been so fatal to Dick

Sand and his party, arrived at the confluence of the Lombe, crossing

numerous caravans of slaves, passed by Cassange again, left it on

the 20th of February, crossed the Coango, and reached the Zambezi at

Kawawa. On the 8th of June he discovered Lake Dilolo again, saw Shinte

again, descended the Zambezi, and reentered Linyanti, which he left on

the 3d of November, 1855.

This second part of the journey, which would lead the doctor toward

the eastern coast, would enable him to finish completely this crossing

of Africa from the west to the east.

After having visited the famous Victoria Falls, the "thundering

foam," David Livingstone abandoned the Zambezi to take a northeastern

direction. The passage across the territory of the Batokas (natives

who were besotted by the inhalation of hemp), the visit to Semalembone

(the powerful chief of the region), the crossing of the Kafone, the

finding of the Zambezi again, the visit to King Mbourouma, the sight

of the ruins of Zambo (an ancient Portuguese city), the encounter with

the Chief Mpende on the 17th of January, 1856 (then at war with the

Portuguese), the final arrival at Tete, on the border of the Zambezi,

on the 2d of March--such were the principal halting-places of this

tour.

The 22d of April Livingstone left that station, formerly a rich one,

descended as far as the delta of the river, and arrived at Quilimane,

at its mouth, on the 20th of May, four years after leaving the Cape.

On the 12th of July he embarked for Maurice, and on the 22d of

December he was returning to England, after sixteen years' absence.

The prize of the Geographical Society of Paris, the grand medal of

the London Geographical Society, and brilliant receptions greeted the

illustrious traveler. Another would, perhaps, have thought that repose

was well earned. The doctor did not think so, and departed on the

1st of March, 1858, accompanied by his brother Charles, Captain

Bedinfield, the Drs. Kirk and Meller, and by Messrs. Thornton and

Baines. He arrived in May on the coast of Mozambique, having for an

object the exploration of the basin of the Zambezi.

All would not return from this voyage. A little steamer, the "My

Robert," enabled the explorers to ascend the great river by

the Rongone. They arrived at Tete, September the 8th; thence

reconnoissance of the lower course of the Zambezi and of the Chire,

its left branch, in January, 1859; visit to Lake Chirona in April;

exploration of the Manganjas' territory; discovery of Lake Nyassa

on September 10th; return to the Victoria Falls, August 9th, 1860;

arrival of Bishop Mackensie and his missionaries at the mouth of the

Zambezi, January 31st, 1861; the exploration of the Rovouma, on the

"Pioneer," in March; the return to Lake Nyassa in September, 1861, and

residence there till the end of October; January 30th, 1862, arrival

of Mrs. Livingstone and a second steamer, the "Lady Nyassa:" such were

the events that marked the first years of this new expedition. At

this time, Bishop Mackensie and one of his missionaries had already

succumbed to the unhealthfulness of the climate, and on the 27th of

April, Mrs. Livingstone died in her husband's arms.

In May, the doctor attempted a second reconnoissance of the Rovouma;

then, at the end of November, he entered the Zambezi again, and sailed

up the Chire again. In April, 1863, he lost his companion, Thornton,

sent back to Europe his brother Charles and Dr. Kirk, who were both

exhausted by sickness, and November 10th, for the third time, he saw

Nyassa, of which he completed the hydrography. Three months after he

was again at the mouth of the Zambezi, passed to Zanzibar, and July

20th, 1864, after five years' absence, he arrived in London, where

he published his work entitled: "Exploration of the Zambezi and its

Branches."

January 28th, 1866, Livingstone landed again at Zanzibar. He was

beginning his fourth voyage.

August 8th, after having witnessed the horrible scenes provoked by the

slave-trade in that country, the doctor, taking this time only a few

cipayes and a few negroes, found himself again at Mokalaose, on the

banks of the Nyassa. Six weeks later, the majority of the men forming

the escort took flight, returned to Zanzibar, and there falsely spread

the report of Livingstone's death.

He, however, did not draw back. He wished to visit the country

comprised between the Nyassa and Lake Tanganyika. December 10th,

guided by some natives, he traversed the Loangona River, and April 2d,

1867, he discovered Lake Liemmba. There he remained a month between

life and death. Hardly well again August 30th he reached Lake Moero,

of which he visited the northern shore, and November 21st he entered

the town of Cayembe, where he lived forty days, during which he twice

renewed his exploration of Lake Moero.

From Cayembe Livingstone took a northern direction, with the design of

reaching the important town of Oujiji, on the Tanganyika. Surprised by

the rising of the waters, and abandoned by his guides, he was obliged

to return to Cayembe. He redescended to the south June 6th, and six

weeks after gained the great lake Bangoneolo. He remained there till

August 9th, and then sought to reascend toward Lake Tanganyika.

What a journey! On setting out, January 7th, 1869, the heroic doctor's

feebleness was such that be had to be carried. In February he at last

reached the lake and arrived at Oujiji, where he found some articles

sent to his address by the Oriental Company of Calcutta.

Livingstone then had but one idea, to gain the sources of the valley

of the Nile by ascending the Tanganyika. September 21st he was at

Bambarre, in the Manonyema, a cannibal country, and arrived at the

Loualaba--that Loualaba that Cameron was going to suspect, and Stanley

to discover, to be only the upper Zaire, or Congo. At Mamohela the

doctor was sick for eighty days. He had only three servants. July

21st, 1871, he departed again for the Tanganyika, and only reentered

Oujiji October 23d. He was then a mere skeleton.

Meanwhile, before this period, people had been a long time without

news of the traveler. In Europe they believed him to be dead. He

himself had almost lost hope of being ever relieved.

Eleven days after his entrance into Oujiji shots were heard a quarter

of a mile from the lake. The doctor arrives. A man, a white man, is

before him. "Doctor Livingstone, I presume?"

"Yes," replied the latter, raising his cap, with a friendly smile.

Their hands were warmly clasped.

"I thank God," continued the white man, "that He has permitted me to

meet you."

"I am happy," said Livingstone, "to be here to receive you."

The white man was the American Stanley, a reporter of the New York

Herald, whom Mr. Bennett, the proprietor of that journal, had just

sent to find David Livingstone.

In the month of October, 1870, this American, without hesitation,

without a word, simply as a hero, had embarked at Bombay for

Zanzibar, and almost following Speke and Burton's route, after untold

sufferings, his life being menaced several times, he arrived at

Oujiji.

The two travelers, now become fast friends, then made an expedition

to the north of Lake Tanganyika. They embarked, pushed as far as Cape

Malaya, and after a minute exploration, were of the opinion that the

great lake had for an outlet a branch of the Loualaba.

It was what Cameron and Stanley himself were going to determine

positively some years after. December 12th, Livingstone and his

companion were returning to Oujiji.

Stanley prepared to depart. December 27th, after a navigation of eight

days, the doctor and he arrived at Ousimba; then, February 23d, they

entered Kouihara.

March 12th was the day of parting.

"You have accomplished," said the doctor to his companion, "what

few men would have done, and done it much better than certain great

travelers. I am very grateful to you for it. May God lead you, my

friend, and may He bless you!"

"May He," said Stanley, taking Livingstone's hand, "bring you back to

us safe and sound, dear doctor!"

Stanley drew back quickly from this embrace, and turned so as to

conceal his tears. "Good-by, doctor, dear friend," he said in a

stifled voice.

"Good-by," replied Livingstone, feebly.

Stanley departed, and July 12th, 1872, he landed at Marseilles.

Livingstone was going to return to his discoveries. August 25th, after

five months passed at Konihara, accompanied by his black servants,

Souzi, Chouma, and Amoda, by two other servants, by Jacob Wainwright,

and by fifty-six men sent by Stanley, he went toward the south of the

Tanganyika.

A month after, the caravan arrived at M'oura, in the midst of storms,

caused by an extreme drought. Then came the rains, the bad will of the

natives, and the loss of the beasts of burden, from falling under the

stings of the tsetse. January 24th, 1873, the little troop was at

Tchitounkone. April 27th, after having left Lake Bangoneolo to the

east, the troop was going toward the village of Tchitambo.

At that place some traders had left Livingstone. This is what Alvez

and his colleague had learned from them. They had good reason to

believe that the doctor, after exploring the south of the lake, would

venture across the Loanda, and come to seek unknown countries in the

west. Thence he was to ascend toward Angola, to visit those regions

infested by the slave-trade, to push as far as Kazounde; the tour

seemed to be all marked out, and it was very probable that Livingstone

would follow it.

Mrs. Weldon then could count on the approaching arrival of the great

traveler, because, in the beginning of June, it was already more than

two months since he had reached the south of Lake Bangoneolo.

Now, June 13th, the day before that on which Negoro would come to

claim from Mrs. Weldon the letter that would put one hundred thousand

dollars in his hands, sad news was spread, at which Alvez and the

traders only rejoiced.

May 1st, 1873, at dawn, Dr. David Livingstone died. In fact, on April

29th, the little caravan had reached the village of Tchitambo, to the

south of the lake. The doctor was carried there on a litter. On the

30th, in the night, under the influence of excessive grief, he moaned

out this complaint, that was hardly heard: "Oh, dear! dear!" and he

fell back from drowsiness.

At the end of an hour he called his servant, Souzi, asking for some

medicine, then murmuring in a feeble voice: "It is well. Now you can

go."

Toward four o'clock in the morning, Souzi and five men of the escort

entered the doctor's hut. David Livingstone, kneeling near his bed,

his head resting on his hands, seemed to be engaged in prayer. Souzi

gently touched his cheek; it was cold. David Livingstone was no more.

Nine months after, his body, carried by faithful servants at the price

of unheard-of fatigues, arrived at Zanzibar. On April 12th, 1874, it

was buried in Westminster Abbey, among those of her great men, whom

England honors equally with her kings.

CHAPTER XV - WHERE A MANTICORE MAY LEAD.

To what plank of safety will not an unfortunate being cling? Will not

the eyes of the condemned seek to seize any ray of hope, no matter how

vague?

So it had been with Mrs. Weldon. One can understand what she must have

felt when she learned, from Alvez himself, that Dr. Livingstone had

just died in a little Bangoneolo village.

It seemed to her that she was more isolated than ever; that a sort of

bond that attached her to the traveler, and with him to the civilized

world, had just been broken.

The plank of safety sank under her hand, the ray of hope went out

before her eyes. Tom and his companions had left Kazounde for the lake

region. Not the least news of Hercules. Mrs. Weldon was not sure of

any one. She must then fall back on Negoro's proposition, while trying

to amend it and secure a definite result from it.

June 14th, the day fixed by him, Negoro presented himself at Mrs.

Weldon's hut.

The Portuguese was, as always, so he said, perfectly practical.

However, he abated nothing from the amount of the ransom, which his

prisoner did not even discuss. But Mrs. Weldon also showed herself

very practical in saying to him:

"If you wish to make an agreement, do not render it impossible by

unacceptable conditions. The exchange of our liberty for the sum you

exact may take place, without my husband coming into a country where

you see what can be done with a white man! Now, I do not wish him to

come here at any price!"

After some hesitation Negoro yielded, and Mrs. Weldon finished

with the concession that James Weldon should not venture as far as

Kazounde. A ship would land him at Mossamedes, a little port to the

south of Angola, ordinarily frequented by slave-ships, and well-known

by Negoro. It was there that the Portuguese would conduct James W.

Weldon; and at a certain time Alvez's agent would bring thither Mrs.

Weldon, Jack, and Cousin Benedict. The ransom would be given to those

agents on the giving up of the prisoners, and Negoro, who would play

the part of a perfectly honest man with James Weldon, would disappear

on the ship's arrival.

Mrs. Weldon had gained a very important point. She spared her husband

the dangers of a voyage to Kazounde, the risk of being kept there,

after paying the exacted ransom, and the perils of the return. As to

the six hundred miles that separated Kazounde from Mossamedes, by

going over them as she had traveled on leaving the Coanza, Mrs. Weldon

would only have a little fatigue to fear. Besides, it would be to

Alvez's interest--for he was in the affair--for the prisoners to

arrive safe and sound.

The conditions being thus settled, Mrs. Weldon wrote to her husband,

leaving to Negoro the care of passing himself off as a devoted

servant, who had escaped from the natives. Negoro took the letter,

which did not allow James Weldon to hesitate about following him as

far as Mossamedes, and, the next day, escorted by twenty blacks, he

traveled toward the north.

Why did he take that direction? Was it, then, Negoro's intention to

embark on one of the vessels which frequent the mouths of the Congo,

and thus avoid the Portuguese stations, as well as the penitentiaries

in which he had been an involuntary guest? It was probable. At least,

that was the reason he gave Alvez.

After his departure, Mrs. Weldon must try to arrange her existence

in such a manner as to pass the time of her sojourn at Kazounde as

happily as possible. Under the most favorable circumstances, it would

last three or four months. Negoro's going and returning would require

at least that time.

Mrs. Weldon's intention was, not to leave the factory. Her child,

Cousin Benedict, and she, were comparatively safe there. Halima's good

care softened the severity of this sequestration a little. Besides,

it was probable that the trader would not permit her to leave the

establishment. The great premium that the prisoner's ransom would

procure him, made it well worth while to guard her carefully.

It was even fortunate that Alvez was not obliged to leave Kazounde to

visit his two other factories of Bihe and Cassange. Coimbra was going

to take his place in the expedition on new razzias or raids. There

was no motive for regretting the presence of that drunkard. Above all,

Negoro, before setting out, had given Alvez the most urgent commands

in regard to Mrs. Weldon. It was necessary to watch her closely. They

did not know what had become of Hercules. If he had not perished in

that dreadful province of Kazounde, perhaps he would attempt to get

near the prisoner and snatch her from Alvez's hands. The trader

perfectly understood a situation which ciphered itself out by a good

number of dollars. He would answer for Mrs. Weldon as for his own

body.

So the monotonous life of the prisoner during the first days after her

arrival at the factory, was continued. What passed in this enclosure

reproduced very exactly the various acts of native existence outside.

Alvez lived like the other natives of Kazounde. The women of the

establishment worked as they would have done in the town, for the

greater comfort of their husbands or their masters. Their occupations

included preparing rice with heavy blows of the pestle in wooden

mortars, to perfect decortication; cleansing and winnowing maize, and

all the manipulations necessary to draw from it a granulous substance

which serves to compose that potage called "mtyelle" in the country;

the harvesting of the sorgho, a kind of large millet, the ripening

of which had just been solemnly celebrated at this time; the

extraction of that fragrant oil from the "mpafon" drupes, kinds

of olives, the essence of which forms a perfume sought for by the

natives; spinning of the cotton, the fibers of which are twisted by

means of a spindle a foot and a half long, to which the spinners

impart a rapid rotation; the fabrication of bark stuffs with the

mallet; the extraction from the tapioca roots, and the preparation of

the earth for the different products of the country, cassava, flour

that they make from the manioc beans, of which the pods, fifteen

inches long, named "mositsanes," grow on trees twenty feet high;

arachides intended to make oil, perennial peas of a bright blue,

known under the name of "tchilobes," the flowers of which relieve the

slightly insipid taste of the milk of sorgho; native coffee, sugar

canes, the juice of which is reduced to a syrup; onions, Indian pears,

sesamum, cucumbers, the seeds of which are roasted like chestnuts; the

preparation of fermented drinks, the "malofori," made with bananas,

the "pombe" and other liquors; the care of the domestic animals, of

those cows that only allow themselves to be milked in the presence of

their little one or of a stuffed calf; of those heifers of small race,

with short horns, some of which have a hump; of those goats which, in

the country where their flesh serves for food, are an important object

of exchange, one might say current money like the slave; finally, the

feeding of the birds, swine, sheep, oxen, and so forth.

This long enumeration shows what rude labors fall on the feeble sex in

those savage regions of the African continent.

During this time the men smoke tobacco or hemp, chase the elephant or

the buffalo, and hire themselves to the traders for the raids. The

harvest of maize or of slaves is always a harvest that takes place in

fixed seasons.

Of those various occupations, Mrs. Weldon only saw in Alvez's factory

the part laid on the women. Sometimes she stopped, looking at them,

while the slaves, it must be said, only replied to her by ugly

grimaces. A race instinct led these unfortunates to hate a white

woman, and they had no commiseration for her in their hearts. Halima

alone was an exception, and Mrs. Weldon, having learned certain words

of the native language, was soon able to exchange a few sentences with

the young slave.

Little Jack often accompanied his mother when she walked in the

inclosure; but he wished very much to go outside. There was, however,

in an enormous baobab, marabout nests, formed of a few sticks, and

"souimangas" nests, birds with scarlet breasts and throats, which

resemble those of the tissirms; then "widows," that strip the thatch

for the benefit of their family; "calaos," whose song was agreeable,

bright gray parrots with red tails, which, in the Manyema, are

called "rouss," and give their name to the chiefs of the tribes;

insectivorous "drougos," similar to gray linnets, with large, red

beaks. Here and there also fluttered hundreds of butterflies of

different species, especially in the neighborhood of the brooks that

crossed the factory; but that was rather Cousin Benedict's affair than

little Jack's, and the latter regretted greatly not being taller,

so as to look over the walls. Alas! where was his poor friend, Dick

Sand--he who had brought him so high up in the "Pilgrim's" masts? How

he would have followed him on the branches of those trees, whose tops

rose to more than a hundred feet! What good times they would have had

together!

Cousin Benedict always found himself very well where he was,

provided insects were not lacking. Happily, he had discovered in the

factory--and he studied as much as he could without magnifying glass

or spectacles--a small bee which forms its cells among the worm-holes

of the wood, and a "sphex" that lays its eggs in cells that are not

its own, as the cuckoo in the nests of other birds. Mosquitoes were

not lacking either, on the banks of the rivulets, and they tattooed

him with bites to the extent of making him unrecognizable. And when

Mrs. Weldon reproached him with letting himself be thus devoured by

those venomous insects: "It is their instinct, Cousin Weldon," he

replied to her, scratching himself till the blood came; "it is their

instinct, and we must not have a grudge against them!"

At last, one day--it was the 17th of June--Cousin Benedict was on the

point of being the happiest of entomologists. But this adventure,

which had unexpected consequences, needs to be related with some

minuteness.

It was about eleven o'clock in the morning. An overpowering heat had

obliged the inhabitants of the factory to keep in their huts, and one

would not even meet a single native in the streets of Kazounde.

Mrs. Weldon was dozing near little Jack, who was sleeping soundly.

Cousin Benedict, himself, suffering from the influence of this

tropical temperature, had given up his favorite hunts, which was a

great sacrifice for him, for, in those rays of the midday sun, he

heard the rustle of a whole world of insects. He was sheltered, then,

at the end of his hut, and there, sleep began to take possession of

him in this involuntary siesta.

Suddenly, as his eyes half closed, he heard a humming; this is one

of those insupportable buzzings of insects, some of which can give

fifteen or sixteen thousand beats of their wings in a second.

"A hexapode!" exclaimed Cousin Benedict, awakened at once, and passing

from the horizontal to the vertical position.

There was no doubt that it was a hexapode that was buzzing in his hut.

But, if Cousin Benedict was very near-sighted, he had at least very

acute hearing, so acute even that he could recognize one insect from

another by the intensity of its buzz, and it seemed to him that this

one was unknown, though it could only be produced by a giant of the

species.

"What is this hexapode?" Cousin Benedict asked himself.

Behold him, seeking to perceive the insect, which was very difficult

to his eyes without glasses, but trying above all to recognize it by

the buzzing of its wings.

His instinct as an entomologist warned him that he had something to

accomplish, and that the insect, so providentially entered into his

hut, ought not to be the first comer.

Cousin Benedict no longer moved. He listened. A few rays of light

reached him. His eyes then discovered a large black point that flew

about, but did not pass near enough for him to recognize it. He held

his breath, and if he felt himself stung in some part of the face or

hands, he was determined not to make a single movement that might put

his hexapode to flight. At last the buzzing insect, after turning

around him for a long time, came to rest on his head. Cousin

Benedict's mouth widened for an instant, as if to give a smile--and

what a smile! He felt the light animal running on his hair. An

irresistible desire to put his hand there seized him for a moment; but

he resisted it, and did well.

"No, no!" thought he, "I would miss it, or what would be worse, I

would injure it. Let it come more within my reach. See it walking! It

descends. I feel its dear little feet running on my skull! This must

be a hexapode of great height. My God! only grant that it may descend

on the end of my nose, and there, by squinting a little, I might

perhaps see it, and determine to what order, genus, species, or

variety it belongs."

So thought Cousin Benedict. But it was a long distance from his skull,

which was rather pointed, to the end of his nose, which was very long.

How many other roads the capricious insect might take, beside his

ears, beside his forehead--roads that would take it to a distance from

the savant's eyes--without counting that at any moment it might retake

its flight, leave the hut, and lose itself in those solar rays where,

doubtless, its life was passed, and in the midst of the buzzing of its

congeners that would attract it outside!

Cousin Benedict said all that to himself. Never, in all his life as

an entomologist, had he passed more touching minutes. An African

hexapode, of a new species, or, at least, of a new variety, or even of

a new sub-variety, was there on his head, and he could not recognize

it except it deigned to walk at least an inch from his eyes.

However, Cousin Benedict's prayer must be heard. The insect, after

having traveled over the half-bald head, as on the summit of some wild

bush, began to descend Cousin Benedict's forehead, and the latter

might at last conceive the hope that it would venture to the top of

his nose. Once arrived at that top, why would it not descend to the

base?

"In its place, I--I would descend," thought the worthy savant.

What is truer than that, in Cousin Benedict's place, any other would

have struck his forehead violently, so as to crush the enticing

insect, or at least to put it to flight. To feel six feet moving on

his skin, without speaking of the fear of being bitten, and not make a

gesture, one will agree that it was the height of heroism. The Spartan

allowing his breast to be devoured by a fox; the Roman holding burning

coals between his fingers, were not more masters of themselves than

Cousin Benedict, who was undoubtedly descended from those two heroes.

After twenty little circuits, the insect arrived at the top of the

nose. Then there was a moment's hesitation that made all Cousin

Benedict's blood rush to his heart. Would the hexapode ascend again

beyond the line of the eyes, or would it descend below?

It descended. Cousin Benedict felt its caterpillar feet coming toward

the base of his nose. The insect turned neither to the right nor to

the left. It rested between its two buzzing wings, on the slightly

hooked edge of that learned nose, so well formed to carry spectacles.

It cleared the little furrow produced by the incessant use of that

optical instrument, so much missed by the poor cousin, and it stopped

just at the extremity of his nasal appendage.

It was the best place this haxapode could choose. At that distance,

Cousin Benedict's two eyes, by making their visual rays converge,

could, like two lens, dart their double look on the insect.

"Almighty God!" exclaimed Cousin Benedict, who could not repress a

cry, "the tuberculous manticore."

Now, he must not cry it out, he must only think it. But was it not too

much to ask from the most enthusiastic of entomologists?

To have on the end of his nose a tuberculous manticore, with large

elytrums--an insect of the cicendeletes tribe--a very rare specimen

in collections--one that seems peculiar to those southern parts of

Africa, and yet not utter a cry of admiration; that is beyond human

strength.

Unfortunately the manticore heard this cry, which was almost

immediately followed by a sneeze, that shook the appendage on which it

rested. Cousin Benedict wished to take possession of it, extended his

hand, shut it violently, and only succeeded in seizing the end of his

own nose.

"Malediction!" exclaimed he. But then he showed a remarkable coolness.

He knew that the tuberculous manticore only flutters about, so to

say, that it walks rather than flies. He then knelt, and succeeded in

perceiving, at less than ten inches from his eyes, the black point

that was gliding rapidly in a ray of light.

Evidently it was better to study it in this independent attitude. Only

he must not lose sight of it.

"To seize the manticore would be to risk crushing it," Cousin

Benedict said to himself. "No; I shall follow it! I shall admire it! I

have time enough to take it!"

Was Cousin Benedict wrong? However that may be, see him now on all

fours, his nose to the ground like a dog that smells a scent, and

following seven or eight inches behind the superb hexapode. One moment

after he was outside his hut, under the midday sun, and a few minutes

later at the foot of the palisade that shut in Alvez's establishment.

At this place was the manticore going to clear the enclosure with a

bound, and put a wall between its adorer and itself? No, that was not

in its nature, and Cousin Benedict knew it well. So he was always

there, crawling like a snake, too far off to recognize the insect

entomologically--besides, that was done--but near enough to perceive

that large, moving point traveling over the ground.

The manticore, arrived near the palisade, had met the large entrance

of a mole-hill that opened at the foot of the enclosure. There,

without hesitating, it entered this subterranean gallery, for it is in

the habit of seeking those obscure passages. Cousin Benedict believed

that he was going to lose sight of it. But, to his great surprise, the

passage was at least two feet high, and the mole-hill formed a gallery

where his long, thin body could enter. Besides, he put the ardor of a

ferret into his pursuit, and did not even perceive that in "earthing"

himself thus, he was passing outside the palisade.

In fact, the mole-hill established a natural communication between the

inside and the outside. In half a minute Cousin Benedict was outside

of the factory. That did not trouble him. He was absorbed in

admiration of the elegant insect that was leading him on. But the

latter, doubtless, had enough of this long walk. Its elytrums turned

aside, its wings spread out. Cousin Benedict felt the danger, and,

with his curved hand, he was going to make a provisional prison for

the manticore, when--f-r-r-r-r!--it flew away!

What despair! But the manticore could not go far. Cousin Benedict

rose; he looked, he darted forward, his two hands stretched out and

open. The insect flew above his head, and he only perceived a large

black point, without appreciable form to him.

Would the manticore come to the ground again to rest, after having

traced a few capricious circles around Cousin Benedict's bald head?

All the probabilities were in favor of its doing so.

Unfortunately for the unhappy savant, this part of Alvez's

establishment, which was situated at the northern extremity of the

town, bordered on a vast forest, which covered the territory of

Kazounde for a space of several square miles. If the manticore

gained the cover of the trees, and if there, it should flutter from

branch to branch, he must renounce all hope of making it figure in

that famous tin box, in which it would be the most precious jewel.

Alas! that was what happened. The manticore had rested again on

the ground. Cousin Benedict, having the unexpected hope of seeing it

again, threw himself on the ground at once. But the manticore no

longer walked: it proceeded by little jumps.

Cousin Benedict, exhausted, his knees and hands bleeding, jumped also.

His two arms, his hands open, were extended to the right, to the left,

according as the black point bounded here or there. It might be said

that he was drawing his body over that burning soil, as a swimmer does

on the surface of the water.

Useless trouble! His two hands always closed on nothing. The insect

escaped him while playing with him, and soon, arrived under the fresh

branches, it arose, after throwing into Cousin Benedict's ear, which

it touched lightly, the most intense but also the most ironical

buzzing of its coleopter wings.

"Malediction!" exclaimed Cousin Benedict, a second time. "It escapes

me. Ungrateful hexapode! Thou to whom I reserved a place of honor in

my collection! Well, no, I shall not give thee up! I shall follow thee

till I reach thee!"

He forgot, this discomfited cousin, that his nearsighted eyes would

not enable him to perceive the manticore among the foliage. But he

was no longer master of himself. Vexation, anger, made him a fool. It

was himself, and only himself, that he must blame for his loss. If he

had taken possession of the insect at first, instead of following it

"in its independent ways," nothing of all that would have happened,

and he would possess that admirable specimen of African manticores,

the name of which is that of a fabulous animal, having a man's head

and a lion's body.

Cousin Benedict had lost his head. He little thought that the most

unforeseen of circumstances had just restored him to liberty. He did

not dream that the ant-hill, into which he had just entered, had opened

to him an escape, and that he had just left Alvez's establishment.

The forest was there, and under the trees was his manticore, flying

away! At any price, he wanted to see it again.

See him, then, running across the thick forest, no longer conscious

even of what he was doing, always imagining he saw the precious

insect, beating the air with his long arms like a gigantic

field-spider. Where he was going, how he would return, and if he

should return, he did not even ask himself, and for a good mile

he made his way thus, at the risk of being met by some native, or

attacked by some beast.

Suddenly, as he passed near a thicket, a gigantic being sprang out and

threw himself on him. Then, as Cousin Benedict would have done with

the manticore, that being seized him with one hand by the nape of

the neck, with the other by the lower part of the back, and before he

had time to know what was happening, he was carried across the forest.

Truly, Cousin Benedict had that day lost a fine occasion of being able

to proclaim himself the happiest entomologist of the five parts of the

world.

*       *       *       *       *

CHAPTER XVI - A MAGICIAN.

When Mrs. Weldon, on the 17th of the month, did not see Cousin

Benedict reappear at the accustomed hour, she was seized with the

greatest uneasiness. She could not imagine what had become of her

big baby. That he had succeeded in escaping from the factory, the

enclosure of which was absolutely impassable, was not admissible.

Besides, Mrs. Weldon knew her cousin. Had one proposed to this

original to flee, abandoning his tin box and his collection of African

insects, he would have refused without the shadow of hesitation. Now,

the box was there in the hut, intact, containing all that the savant

had been able to collect since his arrival on the continent. To

suppose that he was voluntarily separated from his entomological

treasures, was inadmissible.

Nevertheless, Cousin Benedict was no longer in Jose-Antonio Alvez's

establishment.

During all that day Mrs. Weldon looked for him persistently. Little

Jack and the slave Halima joined her. It was useless.

Mrs. Weldon was then forced to adopt this sad hypothesis: the prisoner

had been carried away by the trader's orders, for motives that she

could not fathom. But then, what had Alvez done with him? Had he

incarcerated him in one of the barracks of the large square? Why this

carrying away, coming after the agreement made between Mrs. Weldon and

Negoro, an agreement which included Cousin Benedict in the number

of the prisoners whom the trader would conduct to Mossamedes, to be

placed in James W. Weldon's hands for a ransom?

If Mrs. Weldon had been a witness of Alvez's anger, when the latter

learned of the prisoner's disappearance, she would have understood

that this disappearance was indeed made against his will. But then, if

Cousin Benedict had escaped voluntarily, why had he not let her into

the secret of his escape?

However, the search of Alvez and his servants, which was made with the

greatest care, led to the discovery of that mole-hill, which put the

factory in direct communication with the neighboring forest. The

trader no longer doubted that the "fly-hunter" had fled by that narrow

opening. One may then judge of his fury, when he said to himself that

this flight would doubtless be put to account, and would diminish the

prize that the affair would bring him.

"That imbecile is not worth much," thought he, "nevertheless, I shall

be compelled to pay dear for him. Ah! if I take him again!"

But notwithstanding the searchings that were made inside, and though

the woods were beaten over a large radius, it was impossible to find

any trace of the fugitive.

Mrs. Weldon must resign herself to the loss of her cousin, and Alvez

mourn over his prisoner. As it could not be admitted that the latter

had established communications with the outside, it appeared evident

that chance alone had made him discover the existence of the

mole-hill, and that he had taken flight without thinking any more of

those he left behind than if they had never existed.

Mrs. Weldon was forced to allow that it must be so, but she did

not dream of blaming the poor man, so perfectly unconscious of his

actions.

"The unfortunate! what will become of him?" she asked herself.

It is needless to say that the mole-hill had been closed up the same

day, and with the greatest care, and that the watch was doubled inside

as well as outside the factory.

The monotonous life of the prisoners then continued for Mrs. Weldon

and her child.

Meanwhile, a climatic fact, very rare at that period of the year, was

produced in the province. Persistent rains began about the 19th of

June, though the masika period, that finishes in April, was passed.

In fact, the sky was covered, and continual showers inundated the

territory of Kazounde.

What was only a vexation for Mrs. Weldon, because she must renounce

her walks inside the factory, became a public misfortune for the

natives. The low lands, covered with harvests already ripe, were

entirely submerged. The inhabitants of the province, to whom the crop

suddenly failed, soon found themselves in distress. All the labors

of the season were compromised, and Queen Moini, any more than her

ministers, did not know how to face the catastrophe.

They then had recourse to the magicians, but not to those whose

profession is to heal the sick by their incantations and sorceries, or

who predict success to the natives. There was a public misfortune on

hand, and the best "mganngas," who have the privilege of provoking or

stopping the rains, were prayed to, to conjure away the peril.

Their labor was in vain. It was in vain that they intoned their

monotonous chant, rang their little bells and hand-bells, employed

their most precious amulets, and more particularly, a horn full of mud

and bark, the point of which was terminated by three little horns.

The spirits were exorcised by throwing little balls of dung, or in

spitting in the faces of the most august personages of the court; but

they did not succeed in chasing away the bad spirits that presided

over the formation of the clouds.

Now, things were going from bad to worse, when Queen Moini thought of

inviting a celebrated magician, then in the north of Angola. He was

a magician of the first order, whose power was the more marvelous

because they had never tested it in this country where he had never

come. But there was no question of its success among the Masikas.

It was on the 25th of June, in the morning, that the new magician

suddenly announced his arrival at Kazounde with great ringing of

bells.

This sorcerer came straight to the "tchitoka," and immediately the

crowd of natives rushed toward him. The sky was a little less rainy,

the wind indicated a tendency to change, and those signs of calm,

coinciding with the arrival of the magician, predisposed the minds of

the natives in his favor.

Besides, he was a superb man--a black of the finest water. He was at

least six feet high, and must be extraordinarily strong. This prestige

already influenced the crowd.

Generally, the sorcerers were in bands of three, four, or five when

they went through the villages, and a certain number of acolytes, or

companions, made their cortege. This magician was alone. His whole

breast was zebraed with white marks, done with pipe clay. The lower

part of his body disappeared under an ample skirt of grass stuff, the

"train" of which would not have disgraced a modern elegant. A collar

of birds' skulls was round his neck; on his head was a sort of

leathern helmet, with plumes ornamented with pearls; around his loins

a copper belt, to which hung several hundred bells, noisier than the

sonorous harness of a Spanish mule: thus this magnificent specimen of

the corporation of native wizards was dressed.

All the material of his art was comprised in a kind of basket, of

which a calebash formed the bottom, and which was filled with shells,

amulets, little wooden idols, and other fetiches, plus a notable

quantity of dung balls, important accessories to the incantations and

divinatory practises of the center of Africa.

One peculiarity was soon discovered by the crowd. This magician was

dumb. But this infirmity could only increase the consideration with

which they were disposed to surround him. He only made a guttural

sound, low and languid, which had no signification. The more reason

for being well skilled in the mysteries of witchcraft.

The magician first made the tour of the great place, executing a

kind of dance which put in motion all his chime of bells. The crowd

followed, imitating his movements--it might be said, as a troop of

monkeys following a gigantic, four-handed animal. Then, suddenly, the

sorcerer, treading the principal street of Kazounde, went toward the

royal residence.

As soon as Queen Moini had been informed of the arrival of the new

wizard, she appeared, followed by her courtiers.

The magician bowed to the ground, and lifted up his head again,

showing his superb height. His arms were then extended toward the sky,

which was rapidly furrowed by masses of clouds. The sorcerer pointed

to those clouds with his hand; he imitated their movements in an

animated pantomime. He showed them fleeing to the west, but returning

to the east by a rotary movement that no power could stop.

Then, suddenly, to the great surprise of the town and the court, this

sorcerer took the redoubtable sovereign of Kazounde by the hand. A

few courtiers wished to oppose this act, which was contrary to all

etiquette; but the strong magician, seizing the nearest by the nape of

the neck, sent him staggering fifteen paces off.

The queen did not appear to disapprove of this proud manner of acting.

A sort of grimace, which ought to be a smile, was addressed to the

wizard, who drew the queen on with rapid steps, while the crowd rushed

after him.

This time it was toward Alvez's establishment that the sorcerer

directed his steps. He soon reached the door, which was shut. A

simple blow from his shoulder threw it to the ground, and he led the

conquered queen into the interior of the factory.

The trader, his soldiers and his slaves, ran to punish the daring

being who took it upon himself to throw down doors without waiting for

them to be opened to him. Suddenly, seeing that their sovereign did

not protest, they stood still, in a respectful attitude.

No doubt Alvez was about to ask the queen why he was honored by her

visit, but the magician did not give him time. Making the crowd recede

so as to leave a large space free around him, he recommenced his

pantomime with still greater animation. He pointed to the clouds, he

threatened them, he exorcised them; he made a sign as if he could

first stop them, and then scatter them. His enormous cheeks were

puffed out, and he blew on this mass of heavy vapors as if he had the

strength to disperse them. Then, standing upright, he seemed to intend

stopping them in their course, and one would have said that, owing to

his gigantic height, he could have seized them.

The superstitious Moini, "overcome" by the acting of this tall

comedian, could no longer control herself. Cries escaped her. She

raved in her turn, and instinctively repeated the magician's gestures.

The courtiers and the crowd followed her example, and the mute's

guttural sounds were lost amid those songs; cries, and yells which the

native language furnishes with so much prodigality.

Did the clouds cease to rise on the eastern horizon and veil the

tropical sun? Did they vanish before the exorcisms of this new wizard?

No. And just at this moment, when the queen and her people imagined

that they had appeased the evil spirits that had watered them with so

many showers, the sky, somewhat clear since daybreak, became darker

than ever. Large drops of rain fell pattering on the ground.

Then a sudden change took place in the crowd. They then saw that this

sorcerer was worth no more than the others. The queen's brows were

frowning. They understood that he at least was in danger of losing

his ears. The natives had contracted the circle around him; fists

threatened him, and they were about to punish him, when an unforeseen

incident changed the object of their evil intentions.

The magician, who overlooked the whole yelling crowd, stretched his

arms toward one spot in the enclosure. The gesture was so imperious

that all turned to look at it.

Mrs. Weldon and little Jack, attracted by the noise and the clamor,

had just left their hut. The magician, with an angry gesture, had

pointed to them with his left hand, while his right was raised toward

the sky.

They! it was they'! It was this white woman--it was her child--they

were causing all this evil. They had brought these clouds from their

rainy country, to inundate the territories of Kazounde.

It was at once understood. Queen Moini, pointing to Mrs. Weldon, made

a threatening gesture. The natives, uttering still more terrible

cries, rushed toward her.

Mrs. Weldon thought herself lost, and clasping her son in her arms,

she stood motionless as a statue before this over-excited crowd.

The magician went toward her. The natives stood aside in the presence

of this wizard, who, with the cause of the evil, seemed to have found

the remedy.

The trader, Alvez, knowing that the life of the prisoner was precious,

now approached, not being sure of what he ought to do.

The magician had seized little Jack, and snatching him from his

mother's arms, he held him toward the sky. It seemed as if he were

about to dash the child to the earth, so as to appease the gods.

With a terrible cry, Mrs. Weldon fell to the ground insensible.

But the magician, after having made a sign to the queen, which no

doubt reassured her as to his intentions, raised the unhappy mother,

and while the crowd, completely subdued, parted to give him space, he

carried her away with her child.

Alvez was furious, not expecting this result. After having lost one

of the three prisoners, to see the prize confided to his care thus

escape, and, with the prize, the large bribe promised him by Negoro!

Never! not if the whole territory of Kazounde were submerged by a new

deluge! He tried to oppose this abduction.

The natives now began to mutter against him. The queen had him seized

by her guards, and, knowing what it might cost him, the trader was

forced to keep quiet, while cursing the stupid credulity of Queen

Moini's subjects.

The savages, in fact, expected to see the clouds disappear with those

who had brought them, and they did not doubt that the magician would

destroy the scourge, from which they suffered so much, in the blood of

the strangers.

Meanwhile, the magician carried off his victims as a lion would a

couple of kids which did not satisfy his powerful appetite. Little

Jack was terrified, his mother was unconscious. The crowd, roused to

the highest degree of fury, escorted the magician with yells; but

he left the enclosure, crossed Kazounde, and reentered the forest,

walking nearly three miles, without resting for a moment. Finally he

was alone, the natives having understood that he did not wish to be

followed. He arrived at the bank of a river, whose rapid current

flowed toward the north.

There, at the end of a large opening, behind the long, drooping

branches of a thicket which hid the steep bank, was moored a canoe,

covered by a sort of thatch.

The magician lowered his double burden into the boat, and following

himself, shoved out from the bank, and the current rapidly carried

them down the stream. The next minute he said, in a very distinct

voice:

"Captain, here are Mrs. Weldon and little Jack; I present them to you.

Forward. And may all the clouds in heaven fall on those idiots of

Kazounde!"

*       *       *       *       *

CHAPTER XVII - DRIFTING.

It was Hercules, not easily recognized in his magician's attire, who

was speaking thus, and it was Dick Sand whom he was addressing--Dick

Sand, still feeble enough, to lean on Cousin Benedict, near whom Dingo

was lying.

Mrs. Weldon, who had regained consciousness, could only pronounce

these words:

"You! Dick! You!"

The young novice rose, but already Mrs. Weldon was pressing him in her

arms, and Jack was lavishing caresses on him.

"My friend Dick! my friend Dick!" repeated the little boy. Then,

turning to Hercules: "And I," he added, "I did not know you!"

"Hey! what a disguise!" replied Hercules, rubbing his breast to efface

the variety of colors that striped it.

"You were too ugly!" said little Jack.

"Bless me! I was the devil, and the devil is not handsome."

"Hercules!" said Mrs. Weldon, holding out her hand to the brave black.

"He has delivered you," added Dick Sand, "as he has saved me, though

he will not allow it."

"Saved! saved! We are not saved yet!" replied Hercules. "And besides,

without Mr. Benedict, who came to tell us where you were, Mrs. Weldon,

we could not have done anything."

In fact, it was Hercules who, five days before, had jumped upon the

savant at the moment when, having been led two miles from the factory,

the latter was running in pursuit of his precious manticore. Without

this incident, neither Dick Sand nor the black would have known Mrs.

Weldon's retreat, and Hercules would not have ventured to Kazounde in

a magician's dress.

While the boat drifted with rapidity in this narrow part of the river,

Hercules related what had passed since his flight from the camp on

the Coanza; how, without being seen, he had followed the kitanda in

which Mrs. Weldon and her son were; how he had found Dingo wounded;

how the two had arrived in the neighborhood of Kazounde; how a note

from Hercules, carried by the dog, told Dick Sand what had become of

Mrs. Weldon; how, after the unexpected arrival of Cousin Benedict,

he had vainly tried to make his way into the factory, more carefully

guarded than ever; how, at last, he had found this opportunity of

snatching the prisoner from that horrible Jose-Antonio Alvez. Now,

this opportunity had offered itself that same day. A mgannga, or

magician, on his witchcraft circuit, that celebrated magician so

impatiently expected, was passing through the forest in which Hercules

roamed every night, watching, waiting, ready for anything.

To spring upon the magician, despoil him of his baggage, and of his

magician's vestments, to fasten him to the foot of a tree with liane

knots that the Davenports themselves could not have untied, to paint

his body, taking the sorcerer's for a model, and to act out his

character in charming and controlling the rains, had been the work

of several hours. Still, the incredible credulity of the natives was

necessary for his success.

During this recital, given rapidly by Hercules, nothing concerning

Dick Sand had been mentioned.

"And you, Dick!" asked Mrs. Weldon.

"I, Mrs. Weldon!" replied the young man. "I can tell you nothing. My

last thought was for you, for Jack! I tried in vain to break the cords

that fastened me to the stake. The water rose over my head. I lost

consciousness. When I came to myself, I was sheltered in a hole,

concealed by the papyrus of this bank, and Hercules was on his knees

beside me, lavishing his care upon me."

"Well! that is because I am a physician," replied Hercules; "a

diviner, a sorcerer, a magician, a fortuneteller!"

"Hercules," said Mrs. Weldon, "tell me, how did you save Dick Sand?"

"Did I do it, Mrs. Weldon?" replied Hercules; "Might not the current

have broken the stake to which our captain was tied, and in the middle

of the night, carried him half-dead on this beam, to the place where

I received him? Besides, in the darkness, there was no difficulty in

gliding among the victims that carpeted the ditch, waiting for the

bursting of the dam, diving under water, and, with a little strength,

pulling up our captain and the stake to which these scoundrels had

bound him! There was nothing very extraordinary in all that! The

first-comer could have done as much. Mr. Benedict himself, or even

Dingo! In fact, might it not have been Dingo?"

A yelping was heard; and Jack, taking hold of the dog's large head,

gave him several little friendly taps.

"Dingo," he asked, "did you save our friend Dick?"

At the same time he turned the dog's head from right to left.

"He says, no, Hercules!" said Jack. "You see that it was not he.

Dingo, did Hercules save our captain?"

The little boy forced Dingo's good head to move up and down, five or

six times.

"He says, yes, Hercules! he says, yes!" cried little Jack. "You see

then that it was you!"

"Friend Dingo," replied Hercules, caressing the dog, "that is wrong.

You promised me not to betray me."

Yes, it was indeed Hercules, who had risked his life to save Dick

Sand. But he had done it, and his modesty would not allow him to

agree to the fact. Besides, he thought it a very simple thing, and he

repeated that any one of his companions would have done the same under

the circumstances.

This led Mrs. Weldon to speak of old Tom, of his son, of Acteon and

Bat, his unfortunate companions.

They had started for the lake region. Hercules had seen them pass with

the caravan of slaves. He had followed them, but no opportunity to

communicate with them had presented itself. They were gone! they were

lost!

Hercules had been laughing heartily, but now he shed tears which he

did not try to restrain.

"Do not cry, my friend," Mrs. Weldon said to him. "God may be

merciful, and allow us to meet them again."

In a few words she informed Dick Sand of all that had happened during

her stay in Alvez's factory.

"Perhaps," she added, "it would have been better to have remained at

Kazounde."

"What a fool I was!" cried Hercules.

"No, Hercules, no!" said Dick Sand. "These wretches would have found

means to draw Mr. Weldon into some new trap. Let us flee together, and

without delay. We shall reach the coast before Negoro can return to

Mossamedes. There, the Portuguese authorities will give us aid and

protection; and when Alvez comes to take his one hundred thousand

dollars--"

"A hundred thousand blows on the old scoundrel's skull!" cried

Hercules; "and I will undertake to keep the count."

However, here was a new complication, although it was very evident

that Mrs. Weldon would not dream of returning to Kazounde. The point

now was to anticipate Negoro. All Dick Sand's projects must tend

toward that end.

Dick Sand was now putting in practise the plan which he had long

contemplated, of gaining the coast by utilizing the current of a

river or a stream. Now, the watercourse was there; its direction was

northward, and it was possible that it emptied into the Zaire. In that

case, instead of reaching St. Paul de Loanda, it would be at the mouth

of the great river that Mrs. Weldon and her companions would arrive.

This was not important, because help would not fail them in the

colonies of Lower Guinea.

Having decided to descend the current of this river, Dick Sand's first

idea was to embark on one of the herbaceous rafts, a kind of floating

isle (of which Cameron has often spoken), which drifts in large

numbers on the surface of African rivers.

But Hercules, while roaming at night on the bank, had been fortunate

enough to find a drifting boat. Dick Sand could not hope for anything

better, and chance had served him kindly. In fact, it was not one of

those narrow boats which the natives generally use.

The perogue found by Hercules was one of those whose length exceeds

thirty feet, and the width four--and they are carried rapidly on the

waters of the great lakes by the aid of numerous paddles. Mrs. Weldon

and her companions could install themselves comfortably in it, and it

was sufficient to keep it in the stream by means of an oar to descend

the current of the river.

At first, Dick Sand, wishing to pass unseen, had formed a project

to travel only at night. But to drift twelve hours out of the

twenty-four, was to double the length of a journey which might be

quite long. Happily, Dick Sand had taken a fancy to cover the perogue

with a roof of long grasses, sustained on a rod, which projected fore

and aft. This, when on the water, concealed even the long oar. One

would have said that it was a pile of herbs which drifted down stream,

in the midst of floating islets. Such was the ingenious arrangement

of the thatch, that the birds were deceived, and, seeing there some

grains to pilfer, red-beaked gulls, "arrhinisgas" of black plumage,

and gray and white halcyons frequently came to rest upon it.

Besides, this green roof formed a shelter from the heat of the sun. A

voyage made under these conditions might then be accomplished almost

without fatigue, but not without danger.

In fact, the journey would be a long one, and it would be necessary

to procure food each day. Hence the risk of hunting on the banks if

fishing would not suffice, and Dick Sand had no firearms but the gun

carried off by Hercules after the attack on the ant-hill; but he

counted on every shot. Perhaps even by passing his gun through the

thatch of the boat he might fire with surety, like a butter through

the holes in his hut.

Meanwhile, the perogue drifted with the force of the current a

distance not less than two miles an hour, as near as Dick Sand could

estimate it.

He hoped to make, thus, fifty miles a day. But, on account of this

very rapidity of the current, continual care was necessary to avoid

obstacles--rocks, trunks of trees, and the high bottoms of the river.

Besides, it was to be feared that this current would change to rapids,

or to cataracts, a frequent occurrence on the rivers of Africa.

The joy of seeing Mrs. Weldon and her child had restored all Dick

Sand's strength, and he had posted himself in the fore-part of the

boat. Across the long grasses, his glance observed the downward

course, and, either by voice or gesture, he indicated to Hercules,

whose vigorous hands held the oar, what was necessary so as to keep in

the right direction.

Mrs. Weldon reclined on a bed of dry leaves in the center of the boat,

and grew absorbed in her own thoughts. Cousin Benedict was taciturn,

frowning at the sight of Hercules, whom he had not forgiven for his

intervention in the affair of the manticore. He dreamed of his lost

collection, of his entomological notes, the value of which would

not be appreciated by the natives of Kazounde. So he sat, his limbs

stretched out, and his arms crossed on his breast, and at times he

instinctively made a gesture of raising to his forehead the glasses

which his nose did not support. As for little Jack, he understood

that he must not make a noise; but, as motion was not forbidden, he

imitated his friend Dingo, and ran on his hands and feet from one end

of the boat to the other.

During the first two days Mrs. Weldon and her companions used the food

that Hercules had been able to obtain before they started. Dick Sand

only stopped for a few hours in the night, so as to gain rest. But he

did not leave the boat, not wishing to do it except when obliged by

the necessity of renewing their provisions.

No incident marked the beginning of the voyage on this unknown river,

which measured, at least, more than a hundred and fifty feet in

width. Several islets drifted on the surface, and moved with the same

rapidity as the boat. So there was no danger of running upon them,

unless some obstacle stopped them.

The banks, besides, seemed to be deserted. Evidently these portions of

the territory of Kazounde were little frequented by the natives.

Numerous wild plants covered the banks, and relieved them with a

profusion of the most brilliant colors. Swallow-wort, iris, lilies,

clematis, balsams, umbrella-shaped flowers, aloes, tree-ferns, and

spicy shrubs formed a border of incomparable brilliancy. Several

forests came to bathe their borders in these rapid waters.

Copal-trees, acacias, "bauhinias" of iron-wood, the trunks covered

with a dross of lichens on the side exposed to the coldest winds,

fig-trees which rose above roots arranged in rows like mangroves, and

other trees of magnificent growth, overhung the river. Their high

tops, joining a hundred feet above, formed a bower which the solar

rays could not penetrate. Often, also, a bridge of lianes was thrown

from one bank to the other, and during the 27th little Jack, to his

intense admiration, saw a band of monkeys cross one of these vegetable

passes, holding each other's tail, lest the bridge should break under

their weight.

These monkeys are a kind of small chimpanzee, which in Central Africa

has received the name of "sokos." They have low foreheads, clear

yellow faces, and high-set ears, and are very ugly examples of the

simiesque race. They live in bands of a dozen, bark like dogs, and

are feared by the natives, whose children they often carry off to

scratch or bite.

In passing the liane bridge they never suspected that, beneath that

mass of herbs which the current bore onward, there was a little

boy who would have exactly served to amuse them. The preparations,

designed by Dick Sand, were very well conceived, because these

clear-sighted beasts were deceived by them.

Twenty miles farther on, that same day, the boat was suddenly stopped

in its progress.

"What is the matter?" asked Hercules, always posted at his oar.

"A barrier," replied Dick Sand; "but a natural barrier."

"It must be broken, Mr. Dick."

"Yes, Hercules, and with a hatchet. Several islets have drifted upon

it, and it is quite strong."

"To work, captain! to work!" replied Hercules, who came and stood in

the fore-part of the perogue.

This barricade was formed by the interlacing of a sticky plant with

glossy leaves, which twists as it is pressed together, and becomes

very resisting. They call it "tikatika," and it will allow people to

cross watercourses dry-shod, if they are not afraid to plunge twelve

inches into its green apron. Magnificent ramifications of the lotus

covered the surface of this barrier.

It was already dark. Hercules could, without imprudence, quit the

boat, and he managed his hatchet so skilfully that two hours afterward

the barrier had given way, the current turned up the broken pieces on

the banks, and the boat again took the channel.

Must it be confessed! That great child of a Cousin Benedict had hoped

for a moment that they would not be able to pass. Such a voyage seemed

to him unnecessary. He regretted Alvez's factory and the hut that

contained his precious entomologist's box. His chagrin was real, and

indeed it was pitiful to see the poor man. Not an insect; no, not one

to preserve!

What, then, was his joy when Hercules, "his pupil" after all, brought

him a horrible little beast which he had found on a sprig of the

tikatika. Singularly enough the brave black seemed a little confused

in presenting it to him.

But what exclamations Cousin Benedict uttered when he had brought this

insect, which he held between his index finger and his thumb, as near

as possible to his short-sighted eyes, which neither glasses nor

microscope could now assist.

"Hercules!" he cried, "Hercules! Ah! see what will gain your pardon!

Cousin Weldon! Dick! a hexapode, unique in its species, and of African

origin! This, at least, they will not dispute with me, and it shall

quit me only with my life!"

"It is, then, very precious?" asked Mrs. Weldon.

"Precious!" cried Cousin Benedict. "An insect which is neither a

coleopter, nor a neuropteran, nor a hymenopter; which does not belong

to any of the ten orders recognized by savants, and which they will be

rather tempted to rank in the second section of the arachnides. A

sort of spider, which would be a spider if it had eight legs, and is,

however, a hexapode, because it has but six. Ah! my friends, Heaven

owed me this joy; and at length I shall give my name to a scientific

discovery! That insect shall be the 'Hexapodes Benedictus.'"

The enthusiastic savant was so happy--he forgot so many miseries past

and to come in riding his favorite hobby--that neither Mrs. Weldon nor

Dick Sand grudged him his felicitations.

All this time the perogue moved on the dark waters of the river. The

silence of night was only disturbed by the clattering scales of the

crocodiles, or the snorting of the hippopotami that sported on the

banks.

Then, through the sprigs of the thatch, the moon appeared behind the

tops of the trees, throwing its soft light to the interior of the

boat.

Suddenly, on the right bank, was heard a distant hubbub, then a dull

noise as if giant pumps were working in the dark.

It was several hundred elephants, that, satiated by the woody roots

which they had devoured during the day, came to quench their thirst

before the hour of repose. One would really have supposed that all

these trunks, lowered and raised by the same automatic movement, would

have drained the river dry.

CHAPTER XVIII - VARIOUS INCIDENTS.

For eight days the boat drifted, carried by the current under the

conditions already described. No incident of any importance occurred.

For a space of many miles the river bathed the borders of superb

forests; then the country, shorn of these fine trees, spread in

jungles to the limits of the horizon.

If there were no natives in this country--a fact which Dick Sand did

not dream of regretting--the animals at least abounded there. Zebras

sported on the banks, elks, and "caamas," a species of antelope which

were extremely graceful, and they disappeared at night to give place

to the leopards, whose growls could be heard, and even to the lions

which bounded in the tall grasses. Thus far the fugitives had not

suffered from these ferocious creatures, whether in the forests or in

the river.

Meanwhile, each day, generally in the afternoon, Dick Sand neared one

bank or the other, moored the boat, disembarked, and explored the

shore for a short distance.

In fact, it was necessary to renew their daily food. Now, in this

country, barren of all cultivation, they could not depend upon the

tapioca, the sorgho, the maize, and the fruits, which formed the

vegetable food of the native tribes. These plants only grew in a

wild state, and were not eatable. Dick Sand was thus forced to hunt,

although the firing of his gun might bring about an unpleasant

meeting.

They made a fire by rubbing a little stick against a piece of the wild

fig-tree, native fashion, or even simiesque style, for it is affirmed

that certain of the gorillas procure a fire by this means. Then, for

several days, they cooked a little elk or antelope flesh. During the

4th of July Dick Sand succeeded in killing, with a single ball, a

"pokou," which gave them a good supply of venison. This animal, was

five feet long; it had long horns provided with rings, a yellowish red

skin, dotted with brilliant spots, and white on the stomach; and the

flesh was found to be excellent.

It followed then, taking into account these almost daily landings and

the hours of repose that were necessary at night, that the distance on

the 8th of July could hot be estimated as more than one hundred miles.

This was considerable, however, and already Dick Sand asked himself

where this interminable river ended. Its course absorbed some

small tributaries and did not sensibly enlarge. As for the general

direction, after having been north for a long time, it took a bend

toward the northwest.

However, this river furnished its share of food. Long lianes, armed

with thorns, which served as fishhooks, caught several of those

delicately-flavored "sandjikas", which, once smoked, are easily

carried in this region; black "usakas" were also caught, and some

"mormdes," with large heads, the genciva of which have teeth like the

hairs of a brush, and some little "dagalas," the friends of running

waters, belonging to the clupe species, and resembling the whitebait

of the Thames.

During the 9th of July, Dick Sand had to give proof of extreme

coolness. He was alone on the shore, carrying off a "caama," the horns

of which showed above the thicket. He had just shot it, and now there

bounded, thirty feet off, a formidable hunter, that no doubt came to

claim its prey, and was not in a humor to give it up. It was a lion of

great height, one of those which the natives call "karamos," and not

one of the kind without a mane, named "lion of the Nyassi." This one

measured five feet in height--a formidable beast. With one bound the

lion had fallen on the "caama," which Dick Sand's ball had just thrown

to the ground, and, still full of life, it shook and cried under the

paw of the powerful animal.

Dick Sand was disarmed, not having had time to slide a second

cartridge into his gun.

Dick Sand, in front, lowering his voice, gave directions to avoid

striking against these rotten constructions. The night was clear. They

saw well to direct the boat, but they could also be seen.

Then came a terrible moment. Two natives, who talked in loud tones,

were squatting close to the water on the piles, between which the

current carried the boat, and the direction could not be changed for

a narrower pass. Now, would they not see it, and at their cries might

not the whole village be alarmed?

A space of a hundred feet at most remained to be passed, when Dick

Sand heard the two natives call more quickly to each other. One showed

the other the mass of drifting herbs, which threatened to break the

long liane ropes which they were occupied in stretching at that

moment.

Rising hastily, they called out for help. Five or six other blacks ran

at once along the piles and posted themselves on the cross-beams which

supported them, uttering loud exclamations which the listeners could

not understand.

In the boat, on the contrary, was absolute silence, except for the few

orders given by Dick Sand in a low voice, and complete repose, except

the movement of Hercules's right arm moving the oar; at times a low

growl from Dingo, whose jaws Jack held together with his little hands;

outside, the murmur of the water which broke against the piles, then

above, the cries of the ferocious cannibals.

The natives, meanwhile, rapidly drew up their ropes. If they were

raised in time the boat would pass, otherwise it would be caught, and

all would be over with those who drifted in it! As for slackening or

stopping its progress, Dick Sand could do neither, for the current,

stronger under this narrow construction, carried it forward more

rapidly.

In half a minute the boat was caught between the piles. By an

unheard-of piece of fortune, the last effort made by the natives had

raised the ropes.

But in passing, as Dick Sand had feared, the boat was deprived of a

part of the grasses which now floated at its right.

One of the natives uttered a cry. Had he had time to recognize what

the roof covered, and was he going to alarm his comrades? It was more

than probable.

Dick Sand and his friends were already out of reach, and in a few

moments, under the impetus of this current, now changed into a kind of

rapid, they had lost sight of the lacustrine village.

"To the left bank!" Dick Sand ordered, as being more prudent. "The

stream is again navigable."

"To the left bank!" replied Hercules, giving the oar a vigorous

stroke.

Dick Sand stood beside him and looked at the surface of the water,

which the moon lit up. He saw nothing suspicious. Not a boat had

started in pursuit. Perhaps these savages had none; and at daybreak

not a native appeared, either on the bank or on the water. After that,

increasing their precautions, the boat kept close to the left bank.

During the four following days, from the 11th to the 14th of July,

Mrs. Weldon and her companions remarked that this portion of the

territory had decidedly changed. It was no longer a deserted country;

it was also a desert, and they might have compared it to that Kalahari

explored by Livingstone on his first voyage.

The arid soil recalled nothing of the fertile fields of the upper

country.

And always this interminable stream, to which might be given the name

of river, as it seemed that it could only end at the Atlantic Ocean.

The question of food, in this desert country, became a problem.

Nothing remained of their former stock. Fishing gave little; hunting

was no longer of any use. Elks, antelopes, pokous, and other animals,

could find nothing to live on in this desert, and with them had also

disappeared the carnivorous animals.

The nights no longer echoed the accustomed roarings. Nothing broke

the silence but the concert of frogs, which Cameron compares with the

noise of calkers calking a ship; with riveters who rivet, and the

drillers who drill, in a shipbuilder's yard.

The country on the two banks was flat and destitute of trees as far

as the most distant hills that bounded it on the east and west. The

spurges grew alone and in profusion--not the euphosbium which produces

cassava or tapioca flour, but those from which they draw an oil which

does not serve as food.

Meantime it is necessary to provide some nourishment.

Dick Sand knew not what to do, and Hercules reminded him that the

natives often eat the young shoots of the ferns and the pith which the

papyrus leaf contains. He himself, while following the caravan of Ibn

Ilamis across the desert, had been more than once reduced to this

expedient to satisfy his hunger. Happily, the ferns and the papyrus

grew in profusion along the banks, and the marrow or pith, which has a

sweet flavor, was appreciated by all, particularly by little Jack.

This was not a very cheering prospect; the food was not strengthening,

but the next day, thanks to Cousin Benedict, they were better served.

Since the discovery of the "Hexapodus Benedictus," which was to

immortalize his name, Cousin Benedict had recovered his usual manners.

The insect was put in a safe place, that is to say, stuck in the crown

of his hat, and the savant had recommenced his search whenever they

were on shore. During that day, while hunting in the high grass, he

started a bird whose warbling attracted him.

Dick Sand was going to shoot it, when Cousin Benedict cried out:

"Don't fire, Dick! Don't fire! A bird among five persons would not be

enough."

"It will be enough for Jack," replied Dick Sand, taking aim at the

bird, which was in no hurry to fly away.

"No, no!" said Cousin Benedict, "do not fire! It is an indicator, and

it will bring us honey in abundance."

Dick Sand lowered his gun, realizing that a few pounds of honey were

worth more than one bird; and Cousin Benedict and he followed the

bird, which rose and flew away, inviting them to go with it.

They had not far to go, and a few minutes after, some old trunks,

hidden in between the spurges, appeared in the midst of an intense

buzzing of bees.

Cousin Benedict would have preferred not to have robbed these

industrious hymenopters of the "fruit of their labors," as he

expressed it. But Dick Sand did not understand it in that way. He

smoked out the bees with some dry herbs and obtained a considerable

quantity of honey. Then leaving to the indicator the cakes of wax,

which made its share of the profit, Cousin Benedict and he returned to

the boat.

The honey was well received, but it was but little, and, in fact, all

would have suffered cruelly from hunger, if, during the day of the

12th, the boat had not stopped near a creek where some locusts

swarmed. They covered the ground and the shrubs in myriads, two or

three deep. Now, Cousin Benedict not failing to say that the natives

frequently eat these orthopters--which was perfectly true--they took

possession of this manna. There was enough to fill the boat ten times,

and broiled over a mild fire, these edible locusts would have seemed

excellent even to less famished people. Cousin Benedict, for his part,

eat a notable quantity of them, sighing, it is true--still, he eat

them.

Nevertheless, it was time for this long series of moral and physical

trials to come to an end. Although drifting on this rapid river was

not so fatiguing as had been the walking through the first forests

near the coast, still, the excessive heat of the day, the damp mists

at night, and the incessant attacks of the mosquitoes, made this

descent of the watercourse very painful. It was time to arrive

somewhere, and yet Dick Sand could see no limit to the journey. Would

it last eight days or a month? Nothing indicated an answer. Had the

river flowed directly to the west, they would have already reached the

northern coast of Angola; but the general direction had been rather to

the north, and they could travel thus a long time before reaching the

coast.

Dick Sand was, therefore, extremely anxious, when a sudden change of

direction took place on the morning of the 14th of July.

Little Jack was in the front of the boat, and he was gazing through

the thatch, when a large expanse of water appeared on the horizon.

"The sea!" he shouted.

At this word Dick Sand trembled, and came close to little Jack.

"The sea?" he replied. "No, not yet; but at least a river which flows

toward the west, and of which this stream is only a tributary. Perhaps

it is the Zaire itself."

"May God grant that is!" replied Mrs. Weldon.

Yes; for if this were the Zaire or Congo, which Stanley was to

discover a few years later, they had only to descend its course so as

to reach the Portuguese settlements at its mouth. Dick Sand hoped that

it might be so, and he was inclined to believe it.

During the 15th, 16th, 17th and 18th of July, in the midst of a more

fertile country, the boat drifted on the silvery waters of the river.

They still took the same precautions, and it was always a mass of

herbs that the current seemed to carry on its surface.

A few days more, and no doubt the survivors of the "Pilgrim" would see

the termination of their miseries. Self-sacrifice had been shared in

by all, and if the young novice would not claim the greater part of

it, Mrs. Weldon would demand its recognition for him.

But on the 18th of July, during the night, an incident took place

which compromised the safety of the party. Toward three o'clock in the

morning a distant noise, still very low, was heard in the west. Dick

Sand, very anxious, wished to know what caused it. While Mrs. Weldon,

Jack, and Cousin Benedict slept in the bottom of the boat, he called

Hercules to the front, and told him to listen with the greatest

attention. The night was calm. Not a breeze stirred the atmosphere.

"It is the noise of the sea," said Hercules, whose eyes shone with

joy.

"No," replied Dick Sand, holding down his head.

"What is it then?" asked Hercules.

"Wait until day; but we must watch with the greatest care."

At this answer, Hercules returned to his post.

Dick Sand stood in front, listening all the time. The noise increased.

It was soon like distant roaring.

Day broke almost without dawn. About half a mile down the river, just

above the water, a sort of cloud floated in the atmosphere. But it was

not a mass of vapor, and this became only too evident, when, under

the first solar rays, which broke in piercing it, a beautiful rainbow

spread from one bank to the other.

"To the shore!" cried Dick Sand, whose voice awoke Mrs. Weldon. "It is

a cataract! Those clouds are spray! To the shore, Hercules!"

Dick Sand was not mistaken. Before them, the bed of the river broke in

a descent of more than a hundred feet, and the waters rushed down with

superb but irresistible impetuosity. Another half mile, and the boat

would have been engulfed in the abyss.

CHAPTER XIX - S. V.

With a vigorous plow of the oar, Hercules had pushed toward the left

bank. Besides, the current was not more rapid in that place, and the

bed of the river kept its normal declivity to the falls. As has been

said, it was the sudden sinking of the ground, and the attraction was

only felt three or four hundred feet above the cataract.

On the left bank were large and very thick trees. No light penetrated

their impenetrable curtain. It was not without terror that Dick Sand

looked at this territory, inhabited by the cannibals of the Lower

Congo, which he must now cross, because the boat could no longer

follow the stream. He could not dream of carrying it below the falls.

It was a terrible blow for these poor people, on the eve perhaps of

reaching the Portuguese villages at its mouth. They were well aided,

however. Would not Heaven come to their assistance?

The boat soon reached the left bank of the river. As it drew near,

Dingo gave strange marks of impatience and grief at the same time.

Dick Sand, who was watching the animal--for all was danger--asked

himself if some beast or some native was not concealed in the high

papyrus of the bank. But he soon saw that the animal was not agitated

by a sentiment of anger.

"One would say that Dingo was crying!" exclaimed little Jack, clasping

Dingo in his two arms.

Dingo escaped from him, and, springing into the water, when the boat

was only twenty feet from the bank, reached the shore and disappeared

among the bushes.

Neither Mrs. Weldon, nor Dick Sand, nor Hercules, knew what to think.

They landed a few moments after in the middle of a foam green with

hairweed and other aquatic plants. Some kingfishers, giving a sharp

whistle, and some little herons, white as snow, immediately flew away.

Hercules fastened the boat firmly to a mangrove stump, and all climbed

up the steep bank overhung by large trees.

There was no path in this forest. However, faint traces on the ground

indicated that this place had been recently visited by natives or

animals.

Dick Sand, with loaded gun, and Hercules, with his hatchet in his

hand, had not gone ten steps before they found Dingo again. The dog,

nose to the ground, was following a scent, barking all the time. A

first inexplicable presentiment had drawn the animal to this part

of the shore, a second led it into the depths of the wood. That was

clearly visible to all.

"Attention!" said Dick Sand. "Mrs. Weldon, Mr. Benedict, Jack, do not

leave us! Attention, Hercules!"

At this moment Dingo raised its head, and, by little bounds, invited

them to follow.

A moment after Mrs. Weldon and her companions rejoined it at the foot

of an old sycamore, lost in the thickest part of the wood.

There was a dilapidated hut, with disjoined boards, before which Dingo

was barking lamentably.

"Who can be there?" exclaimed Dick Sand.

He entered the hut.

Mrs. Weldon and the others followed him.

The ground was scattered with bones, already bleached under the

discoloring action of the atmosphere.

"A man died in that hut!" said Mrs. Weldon.

"And Dingo knew that man!" replied Dick Sand. "It was, it must have

been, his master! Ah, see!"

Dick Sand pointed to the naked trunk of the sycamore at the end of the

hut.

There appeared two large red letters, already almost effaced, but

which could be still distinguished.

Dingo had rested its right paw on the tree, and it seemed to indicate

them.

"S. V.!" exclaimed Dick Sand. "Those letters which Dingo knew among

all others! Those initials that it carries on its collar!"

He did not finish, and stooping, he picked up a little copper box, all

oxydized, which lay in a corner of the hut.

That box was opened, and a morsel of paper fell from it, on which Dick

Sand read these few words:

"Assassinated--robbed by my guide, Negoro--3d December,

1871--here--120 miles from the coast--Dingo!--with me!

"S. VERNON."

The note told everything. Samuel Vernon set out with his dog, Dingo,

to explore the center of Africa, guided by Negoro. The money which he

carried had excited the wretch's cupidity, and he resolved to take

possession of it. The French traveler, arrived at this point of the

Congo's banks, had established his camp in this hut. There he was

mortally wounded, robbed, abandoned. The murder accomplished, no doubt

Negoro took to flight, and it was then that he fell into the hands

of the Portuguese. Recognized as one of the trader Alvez's agents,

conducted to Saint Paul de Loanda, he was condemned to finish his days

in one of the penitentiaries of the colony. We know that he succeeded

in escaping, in reaching New Zealand, and how he embarked on the

"Pilgrim" to the misfortune of those who had taken passage on it.

But what happened after the crime? Nothing but what was easy to

understand! The unfortunate Vernon, before dying, had evidently had

time to write the note which, with the date and the motive of the

assassination, gave the name of the assassin. This note he had shut

up in that box where, doubtless, the stolen money was, and, in a last

effort, his bloody finger had traced like an epitaph the initials of

his name. Before those two red letters, Dingo must have remained for

many days! He had learned to know them! He could no longer forget

them! Then, returned to the coast, the dog had been picked up by the

captain of the "Waldeck," and finally, on board the "Pilgrim," found

itself again with Negoro. During this time, the bones of the traveler

were whitening in the depths of this lost forest of Central Africa,

and he no longer lived except in the remembrance of his dog.

Yes, such must have been the way the events had happened. As Dick Sand

and Hercules prepared to give a Christian burial to the remains of

Samuel Yernon, Dingo, this time giving a howl of rage, dashed out of

the hut.

Almost at once horrible cries were heard at a short distance.

Evidently a man was struggling with the powerful animal.

Hercules did what Dingo had done. In his turn he sprang out of the

hut, and Dick Sand, Mrs. Weldon, Jack, Benedict, following his steps,

saw him throw himself on a man, who fell to the ground, held at the

neck by the dog's formidable teeth.

It was Negoro.

In going to the mouth of the Zaire, so as to embark for America, this

rascal, leaving his escort behind, had come to the very place where he

had assassinated the traveler who had trusted himself to him.

But there was a reason for it, and all understood it when they

perceived some handfuls of French gold which glittered in a

recently-dug hole at the foot of a tree. So it was evident that after

the murder, and before falling into the hands of the Portuguese,

Negoro had hidden the product of his crime, with the intention of

returning some day to get it. He was going to take possession of this

gold when Dingo scented him and sprang at his throat. The wretch,

surprised, had drawn his cutlass and struck the dog at the moment when

Hercules threw himself on him, crying:

"Ah, villain! I am going to strangle you at last!"

There was nothing more to do. The Portuguese gave no sign of life,

struck, it maybe said, by divine justice, and on the very spot where

the crime had been committed. But the faithful dog had received

a mortal blow, and dragging itself to the hut, it came to die

there--where Samuel Vernon had died.

Hercules buried deep the traveler's remains, and Dingo, lamented by

all, was put in the same grave as its master.

Negoro was no more, but the natives who accompanied him from Kazounde

could not be far away. On not seeing him return, they would certainly

seek him along the river. This was a very serious danger.

Dick Sand and Mrs. Weldon took counsel as to what they should do, and

do without losing an instant.

One fact acquired was that this stream was the Congo, which the

natives call Kwango, or Ikoutouya Kongo, and which is the Zaire under

one longitude, the Loualaba under another. It was indeed that great

artery of Central Africa, to which the heroic Stanley has given the

glorious name of "Livingstone," but which the geographers should

perhaps replace by his own.

But, if there was no longer any doubt that this was the Congo, the

French traveler's note indicated that its mouth was still one hundred

and twenty miles from this point, and, unfortunately, at this place

it was no longer navigable. High falls--very likely the falls of

Ntamo--forbid the descent of any boat. Thus it was necessary to follow

one or the other bank, at least to a point below the cataracts, either

one or two miles, when they could make a raft, and trust themselves

again to the current.

"It remains, then," said Dick Sand, in conclusion, "to decide if we

shall descend the left bank, where we are, or the right bank of the

river. Both, Mrs. Weldon, appear dangerous to me, and the natives are

formidable. However, it seems as if we risk more on this bank, because

we have the fear of meeting Negoro's escort."

"Let us pass over to the other bank," replied Mrs. Weldon.

"Is it practicable?" observed Dick Sand. "The road to the Congo's

mouths is rather on the left bank, as Negoro was following it. Never

mind. We must not hesitate. But before crossing the river with you,

Mrs. Weldon, I must know if we can descend it below the falls."

That was prudent, and Dick Sand wished to put his project into

execution on the instant.

The river at this place was not more than three or four hundred feet

wide, and to cross it was easy for the young novice, accustomed to

handling the oar. Mrs. Weldon, Jack, and Cousin Benedict would remain

under Hercules's care till his return.

These arrangements made, Dick Sand was going to set out, when Mrs.

Weldon said to him:

"You do not fear being carried away by the falls, Dick?"

"No, Mrs. Weldon. I shall cross four hundred feet above."

"But on the other bank--"

"I shall not land if I see the least danger."

"Take your gun."

"Yes, but do not be uneasy about me."

"Perhaps it would be better for us not to separate, Dick," added Mrs.

Weldon, as if urged by some presentiment.

"No--let me go alone," replied Dick Sand. "I must act for the security

of all. Before one hour I shall be back. Watch well, Hercules."

On this reply the boat, unfastened, carried Dick Sand to the other

side of the Zaire.

Mrs. Weldon and Hercules, lying in the papyrus thickets, followed him

with their eyes.

Dick Sand soon reached the middle of the stream. The current, without

being very strong, was a little accentuated there by the attraction of

the falls. Four hundred feet below, the imposing roaring of the waters

filled the space, and some spray, carried by the western wind, reached

the young novice. He shuddered at the thought that the boat, if it had

been less carefully watched during the last night, would have been

lost over those cataracts, that would only have restored dead bodies.

But that was no longer to be feared, and, at that moment, the oar

skilfully handled sufficed to maintain it in a direction a little

oblique to the current.

A quarter of an hour after, Dick Sand had reached the opposite shore,

and was preparing to spring on the bank.

At that moment cries were heard, and ten natives rushed on the mass of

plants that still hid the boat.

They were the cannibals from the lake village. For eight days they had

followed the right bank of the river. Under that thatch, which

was torn by the stakes of their village, they had discovered the

fugitives, that is to say, a sure prey for them, because the barrier

of the falls would sooner or later oblige those unfortunate ones to

land on one or the other side of the river.

Dick Sand saw that he was lost, but he asked himself if the sacrifice

of his life might not save his companions. Master of himself, standing

in the front of the boat, his gun pointed, he held the cannibals in

check.

Meanwhile, they snatched away the thatch, under which they expected

to find other victims. When they saw that the young novice alone

had fallen into their hands, they betrayed their disappointment by

frightful cries. A boy of fifteen among ten!

But, then, one of those natives stood up, his arm stretched toward the

left bank, and pointed to Mrs. Weldon and her companions, who, having

seen all and not knowing what to do, had just climbed up the bank!

Dick Sand, not even dreaming of himself, waited for an inspiration

from Heaven that might save them.

The boat was going to be pushed out into the stream. The cannibals

were going to cross the river. They did not budge before the gun aimed

at them, knowing the effect of fire-arms. But one of them had seized

the oar; he managed it like a man who knew how to use it, and the boat

crossed the river obliquely. Soon it was not more than a hundred feet

from the left bank.

"Flee!" cried Dick Sand to Mrs. Weldon. "Flee!"

Neither Mrs. Weldon nor Hercules stirred. One would say that their

feet were fastened to the ground.

Flee! Besides, what good would it do? In less than an hour they would

fall into the hands of the cannibals!

Dick Sand understood it. But, then, that supreme inspiration which he

asked from Heaven was sent him. He saw the possibility of saving all

those whom he loved by making the sacrifice of his own life! He did

not hesitate to do it.

"May God protect them!" murmured he, "and in His infinite goodness may

He have pity on me!"

At the same instant Dick Sand pointed his gun at the native who was

steering the boat, and the oar, broken by a ball, flew into fragments.

The cannibals gave a cry of terror.

In fact, the boat, no longer directed by the oar, went with the

stream. The current bore it along with increasing swiftness, and, in a

few moments, it was only a hundred feet from the falls.

Mrs. Weldon and Hercules understood all. Dick Sand attempted to save

them by precipitating the cannibals, with himself, into the abyss.

Little Jack and his mother, kneeling on the bank, sent him a last

farewell. Hercules's powerless hand was stretched out to him.

At that moment the natives, wishing to gain the left bank by swimming,

threw themselves out of the boat, which they capsized.

Dick Sand had lost none of his coolness in the presence of the death

which menaced him. A last thought then came to him. It was that this

boat, even because it was floating keel upward, might serve to save

him.

In fact, two dangers were to be feared when Dick Sand should be going

over the cataract: asphyxia by the water, and asphyxia by the air.

Now, this overturned hull was like a box, in which he might, perhaps,

keep his head out of the water, at the same time that he would be

sheltered from the exterior air, which would certainly have stifled

him in the rapidity of his fall. In these conditions, it seems that a

man would have some chance of escaping the double asphyxia, even in

descending the cataracts of a Niagara.

Dick Sand saw all that like lightning. By a last instinct he clung to

the seat which united the two sides of the boat, and, his head out of

the water, under the capsized hull, he felt the irresistible current

carrying him away, and the almost perpendicular fall taking place.

The boat sank into the abyss hollowed out by the waters at the foot of

the cataract, and, after plunging deep, returned to the surface of the

river.

Dick Sand, a good swimmer, understood that his safety now depended on

the vigor of his arms.

A quarter of an hour after he reached the left bank, and there found

Mrs. Weldon, little Jack, and Cousin Benedict, whom Hercules had led

there in all haste.

But already the cannibals had disappeared in the tumult of the waters.

They, whom the capsized boat had not protected, had ceased to live

even before reaching the last depths of the abyss, and their bodies

were going to be torn to pieces on those sharp rocks on which the

under-current of the stream dashed itself.

CHAPTER XX - CONCLUSION.

Two days after, the 20th of July, Mrs. Weldon and her companions met a

caravan going toward Emboma, at the mouth of the Congo. These were not

slave merchants, but honest Portuguese traders, who dealt in ivory.

They made the fugitives welcome, and the latter part of the journey

was accomplished under more agreeable conditions.

The meeting with this caravan was really a blessing from Heaven. Dick

Sand would never have been able to descend the Zaire on a raft. From

the Falls of Ntamo, as far as Yellala, the stream was a succession of

rapids and cataracts. Stanley counted seventy-two, and no boat could

undertake to pass them. It was at the mouth of the Congo that the

intrepid traveler, four years later, fought the last of the thirty-two

combats which he waged with the natives. Lower down, in the cataracts

of Mbelo, he escaped death by a miracle.

On the 11th of August, Mrs. Weldon, Dick Sand, Jack, Hercules, and

Cousin Benedict arrived at Emboma. Messrs. Motta Viega and Harrison

received them with generous hospitality. A steamer was about sailing

for the Isthmus of Panama. Mrs. Weldon and her companions took passage

in it, and happily reached the American coast.

A despatch sent to San Francisco informed Mr. Weldon of the

unlooked-for return of his wife and his child. He had vainly searched

for tidings of them at every place where he thought the "Pilgrim"

might have been wrecked.

Finally, on the 25th of August, the survivors of the shipwreck reached

the capital of California. Ah! if old Tom and his companions had only

been with them!

What shall we say of Dick Sand and of Hercules? One became the son,

the other the friend, of the family. James Weldon knew how much he

owed to the young novice, how much to the brave black. He was happy;

and it was fortunate for him that Negoro had not reached him, for

he would have paid the ransom of his wife and child with his whole

fortune. He would have started for the African coast, and, once there,

who can tell to what dangers, to what treachery, he would have been

exposed?

A single word about Cousin Benedict. The very day of his arrival the

worthy savant, after having shaken hands with Mr. Weldon, shut

himself up in his study and set to work, as if finishing a sentence

interrupted the day before. He meditated an enormous work on the

"Hexapodes Benedictus," one of the desiderata of entomological

science.

There, in his study, lined with insects, Cousin Benedict's first

action was to find a microscope and a pair of glasses. Great heaven!

What a cry of despair he uttered the first time he used them to study

the single specimen furnished by the African entomology!

The "Hexapodes Benedictus" was not a hexapode! It was a common spider!

And if it had but six legs, instead of eight, it was simply because

the two front legs were missing! And if they were missing, these two

legs, it was because, in taking it, Hercules had, unfortunately,

broken them off! Now, this mutilation reduced the pretended "Hexapodes

Benedictus" to the condition of an invalid, and placed it in the

most ordinary class of spiders--a fact which Cousin Benedict's

near-sightedness had prevented him from discovering sooner. It gave

him a fit of sickness, from which, however, he happily recovered.

Three years after, little Jack was eight years old, and Dick Sand made

him repeat his lessons, while working faithfully at his own studies.

In fact, hardly was he at home when, realizing how ignorant he was,

he had commenced to study with a kind of remorse--like a man who, for

want of knowledge, finds himself unequal to his task.

"Yes," he often repeated; "if, on board of the 'Pilgrim,' I had

known all that a sailor should know, what misfortunes we would have

escaped!"

Thus spoke Dick Sand. At the age of eighteen he finished with

distinction his hydrographical studies, and, honored with a brevet by

special favor, he took command of one of Mr. Weldon's vessels.

See what the little orphan, rescued on the beach at Sandy Hook, had

obtained by his work and conduct. He was, in spite of his youth,

surrounded by the esteem, one might say the respect, of all who knew

him; but his simplicity and modesty were so natural to him, that he

was not aware of it. He did not even suspect--although no one could

attribute to him what are called brilliant exploits--that the

firmness, courage, and fidelity displayed in so many trials had made

of him a sort of hero.

Meanwhile, one thought oppressed him. In his rare leisure hours he

always dreamed of old Tom, of Bat, of Austin, and of Acteon, and of

the misfortune for which he held himself responsible. It was also a

subject of real grief to Mrs. Weldon, the actual situation of her

former companions in misery. Mr. Weldon, Dick Sand, and Hercules

moved heaven and earth to find traces of them. Finally they

succeeded--thanks to the correspondents which the rich shipowner had

in different parts of the world. It was at Madagascar--where, however,

slavery was soon to be abolished--that Tom and his companions had been

sold. Dick Sand wished to consecrate his little savings to ransom

them, but Mr. Weldon would not hear of it. One of his correspondents

arranged the affair, and one day, the 15th of November, 1877, four

blacks rang the bell of his house.

They were old Tom, Bat, Acteon, and Austin. The brave men, after

escaping so many dangers, came near being stifled, on that day, by

their delighted friends.

Only poor Nan was missing from those whom the "Pilgrim" had thrown on

the fatal coast of Africa. But the old servant could not be recalled

to life, and neither could Dingo be restored to them. Certainly it was

miraculous that these two alone had succumbed amid such adventures.

It is unnecessary to say that on that occasion they had a festival

at the house of the California merchant. The best toast, which all

applauded, was that given by Mrs. Weldon to Dick Sand, "To the Captain

at Fifteen!"

THE END.

End of the Voyage Extraordinaire